


All Our Yesterdays

by MelanieR



Series: Alternate Universe [1]
Category: Highlander: The Series
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-03
Updated: 2020-04-03
Packaged: 2021-02-28 21:21:17
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 33,472
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23453941
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MelanieR/pseuds/MelanieR
Summary: First season story. Tessa receives a special crystal necklace from Richie for her birthday. When she and Duncan wake up the next day they find that Tessa's wish has come true and their world has changed.
Series: Alternate Universe [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1687246
Comments: 2
Kudos: 14





	All Our Yesterdays

August 24, 1993 Tessa's thirty-sixth birthday

"What are you doing?" Duncan hissed, under his breath.

"This stupid streamer is dangling right in my face," Richie answered softly, from his place behind the other man.

"Well, push it out of the way and be quiet, I hear her," he ordered, crouching lower.

"Quick, Mac, put this on."

"Surprise!"

Tessa jumped back with a smothered squeak as the two men jumped out at her from behind the kitchen's center island. At least she *thought* they were men. Laughter bubbled up from her throat.

If there was anything that looked more ridiculous than Richie in a cardboard pirate's hat with a noise-maker hanging out of the side of his grinning mouth, it was Duncan wearing a large pink tiara. She doubted she would ever get that image out of her head, but unrestrained laughter obviously wasn't the usual response to a surprise birthday party, judging by Duncan's scowl.

"What?" he asked, puzzled by her reaction.

Tessa was holding her stomach and could only point to his head while she tried to smother her amusement.

Duncan reached up and removed the party hat, his scowl deepening as he got a good look at it. "Richie!" He turned to find his young co-conspirator leaning against the counter, red-faced from holding back his own mirth. "This hat's for Tessa," he said strongly, shaking the item in question in the boy's face.

"Oh, yeah, right. Sorry," Richie offered, trying unsuccessfully to adopt an innocent mien.

Duncan took a menacing step toward him only to be brought up short by a throat clearing behind him. He turned to find Tessa smiling sweetly at him, composed once more.

"Oh," he mumbled, chagrined. He cast Richie a look that promised retribution and went to Tessa's side, kissing her warmly. "Happy birthday."

"Yeah, happy birthday, Tessa," Richie chimed in, coming forward to kiss her cheek.

"Whose idea was this?" she demanded, hands-on-hips. Her smile ruined the attempt at looking stern.

"If you're mad, it was his," Richie said, pointing at the Highlander.

"Thank you, Duncan," she murmured, sidling up to the Scot and giving him a warm kiss.

"Uh, actually it was my idea," Richie admitted hopefully.

"Thank you, Richie," she replied, patting his cheek fondly.

"You know, there's a blatant double-standard in this place," he complained, glowering at the couple as they chuckled in response.

Tessa turned to admire the festively decorated table-Richie had been very busy it seemed-pink, white and mint green crepe papers overlapped each other across its surface resulting in an almost abstract combination of shapes and colors.

Thankfully they'd had the foresight to have Tessa's favorite neighborhood bakery prepare the cake, instead of tackling that chore themselves. Having to scrub the kitchen from floor to ceiling wouldn't have been much of a birthday gift for her and, unfortunately, that's exactly what happened the last time Richie was left alone with the hand-held mixer and a bowl full of batter.

Of course the teen would have preferred double-chocolate cake with chocolate frosting, but Tessa's tastes ran more to lemon chiffon and angel food. Duncan settled for a white cake with whipped strawberry-creme filling and ripe, red strawberries that edged the top and bottom layers. Richie complained that it looked almost healthy and could use a few touches here and there, while eyeing a bottle of Hershey's syrup with a devilish grin. Duncan had threatened dire consequences if he so much as found a strawberry out of place before the party and that seemed to curb the teen's creative impulses. At any rate, it was a beautiful cake Tessa found before her, even if there *were* too many candles, in her opinion.

Once the tiara was settled in place-on the correct head this time-the threesome took their seats and Duncan and Richie sang Happy Birthday to her, while she tried not to flinch at the slightly off-key mix of baritone and tenor. After she blew out the candles, Richie handed her the plates with an expectant expression that was difficult to ignore. He did manage to refrain from touching the rather large piece of cake she set before him when Duncan cleared his throat rather loudly and motioned to the presents. Two brightly wrapped packages held a place of honor at Tessa's right, along with a small envelope. Duncan gave her his presents first; from the envelope-tickets to the sold out performance of Aida at the Seacouver Metropolitan Opera, and from the larger of the packages-an aquamarine cashmere sweater to replace one that Richie had accidentally thrown in the wash while playing maid when Tessa was down with the flu the week before. Duncan smiled suggestively and promised to give her a third 'gift' later in the evening, scowling briefly at Richie's unrestrained cry of "Oh, brother."

After the requisite thank you and lingering kisses that had Richie whistling through his teeth at the demonstrative couple, Tessa picked up the last package. Much smaller than the first, but no less brightly wrapped, it didn't come with a card.

"I forgot," Richie told her, chagrined, before she could pose the question.

Duncan reached over and clipped the kid playfully on the back of the head, eliciting a laugh from Tessa and a rueful smile from Richie.

Richie shifted in his seat nervously as Tessa carefully peeled the paper back to reveal a small, generic white box. She gave a little smile before removing the lid and pushing aside a layer of tissue paper. Tessa looked up at the teenager before lifting a good-sized crystal from its confines. The top of the crystal was encased in simple hand-molded pewter which was no less beautiful for its uniqueness. Small figures that she couldn't quite make out embellished the front and back of the bale lending an air of mystery to the piece.

"Richie...it's beautiful!" Tessa exclaimed, surprised by the elegant simplicity of the gift. She had been bracing herself, picturing something along the lines of a garishly colored scarf with an Eiffel Tower motif. That was what he had given her at Christmas but, of course, his tastes had improved drastically under her tutelage since then.

"You really like it, Tess?" he asked anxiously, his expression eager. It was painfully obvious that her opinion of the present meant a great deal to him, though he tried to hide this beneath his usual veneer of brash cockiness.

"Yes, very much," she assured him, leaning over to kiss his cheek. "Where did you find it?" she asked, turning the crystal from side to side, letting the candlelight play across its surface, creating small prisms of colored light.

"Just some little out of the way store. The pendant was way back in a cubbyhole in this worn leather bag. Judging by the look on his face, the guy who owned the place didn't even know it was there until I asked him what he wanted for it." He turned toward the Highlander. "Do you think it's old, Mac?"

Tessa dutifully handed the crystal to Duncan who gave it a quick, but thorough, once over. "It could be. This setting is pretty unique, and I've never seen an inscription like this before," he admitted, running a finger over the tiny symbols. "Darius might have been able to tell us," he said, suddenly pensive.

Tessa reached over and took his hand in hers. He looked up at her then, the smile returning to his face instantly as their eyes met. "You may have a real find here, Tessa," he informed her, passing back the crystal.

"Cool," Richie proclaimed, before digging into his slice of birthday cake with great enthusiasm, his worries over the acceptability of his gift laid to rest.

Duncan and Tessa shared a smile over his head before partaking of the cake themselves at a slightly less frenzied speed.

As soon as the small celebration was over, Richie announced that he had a late date and that the 'oldsters' had the place to themselves for a few hours. He ducked the smack Duncan playfully aimed at his head for that little crack, kissed Tessa, wished her a happy birthday for the umpteenth time and raced out.

Duncan took Tessa's hand in his and the couple headed for their room.

"It's lovely, isn't it?" Tessa commented an hour later, basking in the afterglow and admiring the pendant once more.

"I don't think I've ever seen one quite like it before," Duncan said, leaning over her shoulder. "I never thought I'd say this, but Richie's got good taste."

"Yes, he's come a long way hasn't he?"

"Yeah, in just a year he's gone from a reckless, wise-cracking kid in a hideous blue and green leather jacket, to a reckless, wise-cracking kid in a brown leather jacket."

Tessa smacked him for that observation. "He's changed much more than that, and you know it, Duncan MacLeod. He didn't trust anyone when he moved in here last year, and who could possibly blame him, with his past? The people he should have been able to depend on were the very ones who hurt him."

"The foster care system has its share of good families, Tessa, but, you're right, Richie did get the short end of the stick a little too often." He leaned back against the headboard and drew Tessa up against his side.

"He's almost nineteen, Duncan, and this is the first really happy year he's ever known. There's something terribly wrong with that."

"I know, Tessa," Duncan agreed. "I wish we had learned about him years ago. We could have made a real difference in his life."

"I almost feel guilty."

Duncan took her hand and squeezed it until she looked up at him. "Why would you feel guilty, Love?"

"We were so happy during years that he was experiencing so much pain," she explained. "He should have grown up in a good home with loving parents, like we did. Not in unfeeling foster homes and on the streets."

He gave her hand another squeeze. "We can't blame ourselves, Tessa. If we had known, I think we would have done something-I *know* we would have," he said emphatically.

"I wish we'd had that chance," she murmured, clutching the pendant tightly in her free hand. "I wish we could do it all over again. Ah!" She cried out suddenly at a sharp pain in her palm.

"What is it?"

Tessa opened her hand muttering to herself in French. "It's nothing, I suppose I just held it too tightly." There was a small cut in the center of the palm where one of the cut edges on the crystal had broken the skin.

Duncan kissed her hand gently. "You should wash that. Who knows where that pendant's been, other than at the bottom of Richie's pocket," he added drolly.

"I will in a moment," she promised, snuggling closer to his side. "Right now I'm quite comfortable where I am."

Duncan smiled and wrapped his arm around her. "I like the way you think," he murmured into her hair.

"Mmmm," she purred in answer, feeling unaccountably drowsy.

Peering down to find her sleeping peacefully, Duncan smiled and tucked the eiderdown comforter around them. "Happy birthday, Love. May all your wishes come true."

********

"Tessa, wake up, we overslept," Duncan urged, shaking her shoulder gently.

"It is nearly nine o clock," she exclaimed, after peering through sleep-filled eyes at the clock on her nightstand.

"I hope Richie had sense enough to open the shop without us...if he's even up yet," Duncan muttered, pulling on a pair of slacks and throwing a sweater on over his head.

After hastily washing up, Duncan raced across to the store, nearly falling over a number of boxes stacked at the entrance. He maneuvered around them quickly, only to run into a crate partially blocking the raised platform in the center of the shop.

"What has he been up to?" he grumbled, pushing the crate aside. "Richie, get out here, now!"

"What's wrong?" Tessa asked, skirting the boxes gracefully. She didn't wait for an answer but went directly to the front door, unlocking it and retrieving the morning paper.

"When I get my hands on him," Duncan vowed, shifting the crate a little further.

It was only then that Tessa actually noticed the assorted boxes stacked against the walls. She moved to the blinds and opened them to let the morning sun spill into the shop-her eyes taking in the interior she knew so well at a glance. "Mon Dieu," she gasped, nearly dropping the paper from her suddenly numb fingers. She looked down at the headline and felt the room spin around her.

"Tessa!"

Duncan held her to him in alarm; her face was white as a sheet, her hands clammy to the touch. "Tessa, what is it?"

"Duncan," she murmured, shaking slightly in his arms, "the store."

The Scot took a good look at his surroundings for the first time and felt his blood run cold. "Richie didn't do this," he said, stating the obvious.

Tessa thrust the paper into his hands, pointing to the front page with hands that still trembled.

"What?"

"The heading," she forced out just above a whisper.

"The Seacouver Star," he read dutifully, "June 17, 1986." He gazed around the shop then read the date again. "June 17, 1986. This is a joke of some kind," he said adamantly.

He tossed the paper down on one of the boxes as he headed back to the apartment. "Richie!" he shouted, striding down the hall. The door to the teenager's bedroom stood open. Duncan hastily switched on the light...and froze.

Other than a bare mattress sitting atop the bedframe, the room stood empty. Duncan moved to the closet, throwing it wide. Empty. No towels in the bathroom, no clothes lying in a pile on the floor. There was no indication that anyone had ever inhabited the room at all.

"Duncan?"

Tessa stood in the doorway, hands clenched. She was still pale, though not alarmingly so, and hesitantly stepped forward. "Duncan, what does it mean? What's happened?" Her voice shook slightly despite her best efforts, and Duncan moved to take one of her hands in his.

"I don't know, Tessa, but I'm going to find out."

His calm demeanor bolstered her courage and she nodded, walking beside him back to their bedroom.

He went directly to the phone and dialed.

"Who are you calling?" Tessa asked, sitting on the edge of the bed.

"Sam Thompson. If anyone can explain this, he can."

"Thompson's," a slightly accented voice answered on the second ring.

"Sam, this is Duncan, how are you doing?"

"Duncan?" the voice repeated, with no hint of recognition.

"Duncan MacLeod," Duncan prompted, his voice sounding hollow to his own ears.

"MacLeod. Oh, yes, the young man who purchased the building down the street. I've been meaning to stop by and see how you're doing with your preparations. Word has it you plan on opening over the holiday weekend. That's quite a goal you've set for yourself. If you need help authenticating any of the pieces in your stock, please call on me. I have quite a bit of experience in that area." A moment of uncomfortable silence followed. "Is that why you phoned?"

"In a way," Duncan replied, his mind racing. "I was given your name by a friend who recommended you highly."

"Well, I'd like to thank him. Who was it?"

"Lawrence Addison."

"Ah, yes, Lawrence. I was so sorry to hear of his passing last month. A great loss to us all," he commiserated.

"Yes, he was a good friend." Duncan mouthed the words automatically.

"Well, again, if I can help in any way..."

"Thank you. I'm sure we'll have many dealings in the future. I'll drop by later in the week."

"I look forward to it."

The two men said their goodbyes and Duncan set down the phone.

"He said Lawrence died last month. Lawrence died in May of 1986." Duncan turned slowly to face Tessa, taking her hand once more. "Sweetheart, do you remember what we talked about last night?" He didn't wait for her response. "We said we wished we could live the last years over, to be there for Richie when he needed us."

"Yes, but that's not possible," she stated.

He didn't reply to that, just looked around the room.

"It's *not* possible," she reiterated, trying to convince herself. "People don't just make a wish and...poof."

"Where did you put the crystal Richie gave you?" Duncan asked suddenly, flipping the comforter back and shifting the pillows on the bed.

"I didn't put it anywhere. I was still holding it when I fell asleep, I suppose." She opened her hand as she remembered the cut in her palm. "It's still there."

"What?"

"The puncture mark," she told him, offering her hand for his perusal.

"The wound is there, but the crystal is gone," he muttered.

"What has that to do with any of this?" she asked, voice rising.

"I don't know, Tessa. I'm just trying to make some sense of it."

For want of any concrete answers to their questions, and because their stomachs indicated that they must, the couple finally adjourned to the kitchen where they ate breakfast in silence, each lost in their own thoughts.

Tessa was having a difficult time dealing with the clutter, among other things, and after several futile attempts to draw her into a conversation, Duncan finally left her to putter among the open boxes in a trance-like state, while he drove downtown to pick up another newspaper. It wasn't really necessary-by the time he'd reached Monument Circle in downtown Seacouver the facts spoke for themselves.

The civic center, built in 1990, was absent, as were the neon signs marking the newly-constructed shopping mall. He swung the T-bird through High Park, only to find no sign of Tessa's sculptures. He stopped in at the Hall of Records and checked the Local Artists Registry, Tessa Noel-who would have her first exhibition in May of 1988, was not listed.

The morning paper and the condition of the store, along with his conversation with Sam had actually been enough to convince Duncan of the reality of their new circumstances, but there was something in his Scottish stubbornness that insisted on his covering all bases. He even went so far as to sort through all of his and Tessa's currency, searching in vain for any dates later than 1986.

For two days the couple spent the majority of their time making phone calls to friends and talking around in circles, trying to draw answers without actually asking the questions. Each morning, one or the other would race downstairs to grab the daily paper in hopes that it had all been nothing but a very vivid dream. On the morning of the third day, Duncan finally made a decision to broach the subject that was on both their minds.

"Tessa, it's time to face facts."

"I don't know what you mean," she hedged, eyes glued to her coffee cup.

"We have to stop fighting it, Tessa. This is June of 1986 and nothing we say or do is going to change that. We don't know how it happened, but it has...it's done. It's time for us to just get on with it."

"You make that sound so easy."

"It is. Tessa, we're here for a reason," he told her confidently. "Fate, or luck, or sheer willpower brought us here to do something...and we both know what that something is."

"Richie," she declared, finally meeting his eyes.

"Richie," Duncan repeated, squeezing her hand. "This is the chance we wished for, and the powers-that-be granted it. I don't know how, or why. In four hundred years I've never experienced anything like this." He sounded almost excited by the possibility.

"Duncan," Tessa said, laying a gentle hand on his arm, "what do you want to do?"

"If we're going to help Richie, we should look into becoming foster parents right away," he told her, sounding very certain.

"We won't qualify as foster parents, we're not married," she pointed out.

"There are ways to get around that, Tessa."

"What do you mean 'get around that?'" she asked curiously

"When you've lived four hundred years you learn to develop connections to people who can provide whatever papers you may need," he explained.

"Like with Grace in Paris, when she needed a new identity in a hurry?"

"Exactly. There's a man here in Seacouver I've used before."

"An Immortal," she guessed.

"Yes, he's dependable and fast...he has to be. He can set out a computerized paper trail it would take years to discredit, if anyone even bothered to try."

"So he can create records that say we've been married for years?"

"I'm sure he can, Tessa, if you're really sure you want to do this. I'll understand if you don't."

"Of course I want to do this." She was warming to the idea now. "My God, Duncan, we both wanted this chance so badly that we've been given this unbelievable opportunity...this gift. Even now, this very minute, I'm wondering what's happening to that little boy. What kind of home have they put him in?" She handed him the phone. "Call your friend," she said, looking as determined as he'd ever seen her. "I want Richie with us as soon as possible."

Duncan's *old* friend assured him that he could have all the necessary paperwork and computerized files seeded by the end of the week. Duncan decided to kill two birds with one stone, and had him put out a search in the foster care system for one Richard Ryan, age eleven.

He called back with the information that evening. Tessa stood by, biting her nails during Duncan's phone conversation, waiting for news. She picked up bits and pieces of the discussion, but nothing helpful, and the suspense was getting to her.

As soon as Duncan hung up, she edged closer to him, trying to read his face in the silence that followed. When he didn't say anything, but just sat there staring off into space, she thought the worst.

"What is it?" she urged. "Tell me!"

He looked up at her, startled out of his reverie, and climbed to his feet. "I'm sorry, Love. I didn't mean to leave you in the dark," he said, brushing the back of his hand down her cheek. "It looks like our arriving at this point in time wasn't just coincidence. Richie's in-between placements right now-he's back at the orphanage."

"Then we can get him right away." She sounded so hopeful, he hated to be the voice of reason.

"Slow down, Tessa. I have a feeling nothing regarding foster-parenting happens 'right away.'"

Tessa was not to be swayed. "Oh, pish. We didn't come all this way to have an overworked, underpaid bureaucracy stand between us and Richie. Just let them try to keep us apart." She crossed her arms over her chest and raised one eyebrow as if daring him to argue further.

He didn't. "Have I told you lately how lucky I am?" Duncan stood behind Tessa and wrapped his arms around her, pulling her body snugly against his.

"Now that you mention it," she responded, turning to face him and clasping her hands behind his neck, "I don't think you have. What do you intend to do about that?" she purred.

"Oh, I'll think of something," he murmured against her forehead before lowering his mouth to hers.

***

The falsified records helped the couple cut through the red tape at an amazing speed, but even with Duncan's connections the process was slower than either of them would have liked. It was nearly three weeks before their interview with Social Services and, regardless of the fact that the representative was thoroughly charmed by the couple, it took another month and several more visits before Richie's placement was finalized.

Duncan's friend was noncommittal about how he had managed to maneuver circumstances to assure that it was Richie the couple fostered, saying only that problem children were rarely sought after by the masses, and that Richard Ryan definitely fell into that category.

While playing the waiting game, Tessa was a nervous wreck, fearing that the boy would be placed with another family, and bemoaning his spending so much time in the orphanage when he could be with them. Duncan's daily mantra consisted of orders for her not to worry, and reassurances that Richie would be with them soon, no matter what it took. He never explained that last and Tessa didn't ask, secure in the knowledge that Duncan would do whatever was necessary to ensure that Richie had a happy childhood this time around.

In the interim, the store had its grand-opening and Duncan called on Sam Thompson-officially-for the first time, establishing a friendship he knew would last for years. He also sent several missives off to Darius, warning his friend to be wary of strangers, and directing him to take precautions for his own protection. Whether he would change his lifestyle in the slightest was doubtful, but Duncan would make a point of being with him when that fateful day arrived-if it arrived at all this time around. The future was a great unknown.

Tessa spent most of her free time arranging and re-arranging Richie's bedroom. Casting Duncan in the role of part-time furniture mover and all-around slave, she directed the redecorating with an iron hand.

By the time she finally announced that she was satisfied with the placements, even the hearty Scot was showing signs of tiring. Muttering something uncomplimentary under his breath about artistic expression being highly overrated, he flopped down on the bed to get an unencumbered view of the room.

"Tessa," he said through clenched teeth, "this is exactly where everything was to begin with."

"Oh...well, then we know it's perfect," she replied, unfazed by his reaction, and gave him a quick peck on the cheek.

Duncan dropped his head into his hands and moaned, wondering how a Scottish warrior had fallen so low.

Despite all Duncan's protests, Tessa filled the pantry to overflowing. "He is a growing boy," was her response to his inquiry on why they needed ten pounds of hamburger and five gallons of Rocky Road ice-cream. She chose to ignore his muttered observation that Richie would be a growing boy with high cholesterol and no teeth if she kept this up, and dared him to make a comment when she revealed another purchase-a case of Hostess Fruit Pies-Richie's personal favorite.

In comparison to the preparations, the day of Richie's arrival was almost anti-climactic... almost.

Tessa seemed to have realized only that morning that the stairs leading to the catwalk had no bannister. Duncan spent the better part of the morning assuring her that Richie would not fall and break his neck because of this-he was eleven, not four. He kept the fact that the eighteen-year-old version had fallen down those same stairs more than once to himself.

Tessa was certain that every car that passed the shop was Richie and his escort, and Duncan finally threatened to put alum on her fingers if she didn't stop biting her nails. She graciously refrained from pointing out that *he* was wearing a hole in the carpet, as he paced back and forth like an expectant father.

They both managed to calm down somewhat as the morning dragged on, but when the bell rang Tessa jumped out of her seat and literally ran for the door. "He's here," she all but shouted to Duncan. Without need as it turned out; he was right on her heels.

She took a deep breath to regain her composure before opening the door and finding herself face-to-face with a rather large-boned woman. Of medium height, she stood smiling conservatively at the couple in what Duncan supposed was her standard 'state representative' deportment.

"Mr. and Mrs. MacLeod?"

"Yes," Tessa answered, pinching herself to keep from giggling nervously at her newly-acquired title.

"I'm Peggy Langdon, Richie's caseworker."

"Please, come in. Isn't Richie with you?" Tessa asked in mild alarm when she saw no sign of the boy. Their hopes had been raised so high the last few days, to lose Richie now would devastate them both.

"Yes, he's..." Ms. Langdon looked to either side of her. "He was right here," she assured them, turning in a complete circle. She looked off to her left and her eyes narrowed. "I'll be right back."

Duncan and Tessa watched as the sturdily built woman stalked toward the corner of the building, had a short, heated discussion with someone they couldn't see, then reached around the corner and pulled a thin, curly-haired child into view. She kept a firm hold on the boy all the way to the door, and Duncan and Tessa stepped back into the shop as Ms. Langdon ushered the child inside.

Their first clear glimpse of Richie was a revelation of sorts. Huge blue eyes in a gamin face regarded them warily. He was all arms and legs, standing no more than four feet-eight, and most of that skin and bones. The faded hand-me-down jeans, t-shirt, and threadbare sneakers made Tessa yearn to take him shopping immediately.

Both she and Duncan took in every detail of the boy. Their older Richie had no pictures of himself before the age of sixteen, and to say he was close-mouthed about his childhood would have been a huge understatement. This 'Richie in miniature,' with his unruly red curls that needed trimming badly, blue eyes that appeared huge in the small face, and pug nose-so common to young boys-added up into a very appealing combination. A combination Tessa, at her maternal best, found impossible to resist.

"He's a little small for his age," Ms. Langdon offered, noticing their close appraisal of the boy and misinterpreting their reaction. She nearly missed the mutinous way Richie's jaw set at the description. "But with proper nutrition he may surprise us all," she allowed, and the boy's face softened somewhat.

Duncan resisted the urge to bombard the kid with questions that he might actually answer-unlike his teenage counterpart-and settled for introductions. "Richie, this is Tessa and I'm Duncan." He kept his tone level. It was obvious to anyone who knew Richie that he was frightened, and trying to cover the fact.

"Funny names," the boy remarked boldly, with a forced show of bravado and Duncan barely kept from grinning at the childish timbre to his voice. "You ain't from around here, are you?"

"No, we're not," Tessa replied, fighting her own desire to pull the boy into a fierce hug. "I'm French, and Duncan is Scottish."

"Really?" Richie's eyes widened before he could catch himself. He quickly drew the cloak of aloofness around himself once more. "I'm American," he said in challenge. "Maybe you didn't know that, maybe you wanted some other kid."

Duncan caught the undertone of vulnerability in that last statement and knew he and Tessa had their work cut out for them.

"No, Richie, we wanted *you*." He locked eyes with the boy as he said this, and watched as the child behind the tough guy mask blinked rapidly and hesitantly dropped the distrustful demeanor.

Ms. Langdon set Richie's small suitcase down inside the door. "I'm sorry, I can't stay. I'm sure I'm leaving Richie in good hands. You're both familiar with the follow-up visits," she stated, and nodded as the couple murmured their understanding of the procedure. "Well, I'll see you then. Richie, you be good." She waited for the boy's grunted response before taking her leave.

Richie stood worrying the front of his light jacket while biting his lip and casting apprehensive glances at the adults.

"Richie," Tessa began, her voice lilting and soft, "would you like to see the rest of your home?"

The boy's head jerked up at the word 'home' and she thought for a moment she had made a mistake. But he simply studied her face as though searching for a deception, before giving a clipped, "Yeah, okay."

Duncan stepped forward and lay his hand on Richie's shoulder, only to have him step away from the gesture. Duncan pretended to take no notice, even as he felt his stomach clench at the look of fear that passed fleetingly across the child's face. He led the way, allowing the boy to follow at his own pace. "This is the antique shop," he explained, watching Richie's eyes light up as he took in the illuminated display cases and the suit of armor standing in the corner of the room.

"Wow," he breathed, going straight for the case holding the swords and Duncan felt his stomach clench again, for a different reason this time.

"All this belongs to you guys?" Richie asked, eyes impossibly blue in the spot lighting that surrounded the case.

"Mm hmm."

"Wow," the boy repeated. "This is way cool," he told them, tearing his eyes away from the swords with an effort, and turning toward another area where a jeweled 15th century dragon statue held a place of honor. "What's that?" he asked, looking up at Duncan.

"It's a dragon," Duncan informed him, opening the case and removing the statue. He held it out for Richie's inspection.

"What's it made of?"

"It's called jade," Duncan said. "See the eyes? Those are rubies, and this one in its forehead is called an emerald. You can touch it," he offered, smiling as the boy reached out a hand tentatively, then pulled it back.

"I might break it."

"It's not that easy to break. Go ahead."

The boy slowly reached out and touched the dragon head, running his fingers over the carved mane with excessive care.

Watching them standing there together, Tessa smiled, loathe to interrupt the quiet moment. Only after the boy had satisfied his curiosity about the piece did she step forward.

"Are you hungry, Richie?" Tessa never thought she'd be asking that question.

"Uh-huh."

"You two wash up then, before it gets cold," she instructed, heading for the kitchen.

"Hot lunch?" Richie asked in surprise, looking up at the Highlander.

"Hot lunch. Come on, let's not keep the lady waiting." Richie didn't shrug off the hand Duncan placed on his shoulder this time, and the Scot smiled inwardly at that small show of trust.

After a quick hand-scrubbing in the store's bathroom, Duncan escorted Richie to the kitchen where Tessa was transferring buns from a bag to a large platter. The boy's eyes shifted to the table top and his mouth dropped open.

"Hot dogs?"

"Yes, I hope you like them," Tessa murmured with a knowing smile.

"Well...they're okay, I guess," Richie sniffed, though his eyes gave him away as they locked on the plate of frankfurters and stayed there.

"Good. Richie, you sit here." She pulled the chair out for him and he quickly scooted into place, his eyes never leaving the food as if he were afraid it might disappear at any moment.

Richie eyed the bowl of chili sauce distrustfully. "What's that?"

Duncan was shocked. "Haven't you ever had a chili dog before?"

"Nuh-uh."

"Well, you're in for a treat," Tessa promised, placing the bowl in front of him.

Richie looked uncertain, then sampled a small dollop of the mixture. "Not bad," he granted, magnanimously, then proceeded to pile several spoonfuls onto his bun. "Not bad at all," he mumbled around a mouthful.

Three chili dogs and half a bag of potato chips later, he finally leaned back in his chair.

"Had enough?" Duncan asked, amused.

"Uh-huh."

"Oh, then I suppose you don't want any chocolate cake?" Tessa asked innocently.

"Chocolate cake?" Richie squeaked.

"Actually, it's double-chocolate cake with chocolate frosting," Tessa elaborated, placing the item in question in the center of the table.

"That's my favorite," Richie exclaimed before he caught himself. His defenses were crumbling now that his stomach was full. "I never had dessert at lunch before."

"Well, this is a celebration," Duncan informed him, slicing a large piece and setting it on the boy's plate.

"What ya celebratin?'" Richie asked, lifting a forkful of cake.

"You," Duncan said simply.

Richie froze with the cake halfway to his mouth and stared at the couple, a myriad of emotions playing across his small face. He slowly lowered the fork back to his plate and stared down at it in confusion.

Duncan and Tessa shared a look, unsure how to handle this new development.

"You have frosting on your nose," Tessa said, out of the blue.

Richie looked up at her, then crossed his eyes trying to get a glimpse of his own nose. "No, I don't."

"Yes, you do."

"Don't either."

"Do too," she insisted.

"Where?" he demanded, glowering at her.

"Right..." Tessa scooped up some frosting on her finger, "here," she said, plopping the frosting down on the end of the boy's nose.

Richie's eyes widened and laughter erupted from his throat in gales. Duncan and Tessa couldn't help but join in-the sound was infectious-and by the time Duncan tossed a napkin at the boy, Tessa had tears running down her face. Richie continued to giggle as he wiped the frosting from his face. "You guys are funny," he informed them around a huge smile. "Course, looks aren't everything," he added, and went into fits of laughter again.

Duncan moaned at the bad joke, but laughed along with him, pleased that the kid felt comfortable enough with them to make the attempt.

"I don't understand," Tessa said, frowning as the menfolk laughed all the harder at this.

After lunch, Tessa escorted Richie upstairs to his room, finding it extremely difficult to resist tousling his hair as he trudged down the hall in front of her, suitcase in hand. That head of wild curls was going to have a close encounter with a pair of scissors before the week was out, if she had anything to say about it.

"Well, here we are," she announced, moving around him and stepping into the bedroom.

"This your room?" he asked, after giving the immaculate room the once over.

"No, it's yours."

Richie was a little startled by the news. "Oh. How many other kids you got?"

"Duncan and I don't have any other children," Tessa answered, wondering what had prompted the question.

"Who else sleeps here?"

"Who else?" Tessa was having a hard time keeping up with him. "No one else. This is *your* room," she repeated, emphasizing the possessive. "Duncan and I are just down the hall."

Richie gazed around the spacious room, then up at her. "You mean, my own room? I don't have to share it with anybody?" he asked in wonderment.

"You don't have to share it with anybody," Tessa assured him with a small smile as comprehension dawned.

He looked around the room for the third time, then up at her in amazement. "Are you rich?"

Caught off guard by the very blunt question, Tessa stammered out a reply. "We're...comfortable."

"Oh," Richie said, not quite understanding that. "That's good. I like to be comfortable."

Tessa put her hand over her mouth to cover her smile. "Yes, um, we like it, too. What do you say we get you unpacked?"

"Okay."

Tessa placed the small suitcase flat on the bed and opened it. She was silently appalled at the meager contents.

One pair of faded blue-jeans, three pullover t-shirts, one pair of pajamas, enough underwear for four days, a toothbrush, hairbrush and three pair of socks. A few personal possessions were spread on top. A baseball, a battered X-Men comic book and a small model of a motorcycle, painted bright red.

"Did you make this?" she asked, picking up the model.

"Uh-huh. I'm gonna have one someday," he informed her.

"Yes, you will," she agreed with a wistful expression.

Richie smiled at that.

"You like red, I see."

"Yeah, a motorcycle's gotta be red. Or black, black's cool. Yeah, a black motorcycle with red flames on the sides."

Richie was so animated, with his eyes shining and a smile lighting his face that Tessa found herself caught up in his enthusiasm.

"What about lightning bolts?" she suggested.

"Lightning bolts," he repeated, considering the possibility. "Yeah, lightning bolts are cool. Okay, either black with red flames, or red with yellow lightning bolts. That'll work."

"Well, I'm glad that is settled. One should always plan the important things in advance," Tessa said very seriously.

"Yeah," Richie agreed, "you gotta have plans."

"Speaking of plans," Tessa murmured, holding up one of the hand-me-down shirts, "I think you and I will go on a little shopping spree tomorrow."

"We will?"

"We will."

Tessa had a glimmer in her eyes that would have had the teenage Richie running for cover, but this younger version was going to have to learn the hard way.

It didn't take long to put away his things. While Tessa did that, Richie meandered around the room looking at the assorted items stacked on the wall shelves. There was a collection of books the couple thought might be of interest to a boy his age. Ivanhoe, Treasure Island, The Red Badge of Courage and The Swiss Family Robinson were among the titles lining one shelf. Several games filled another-Battleship, Monopoly, Yahtze and Clue among others.

"We weren't sure what you would like," Tessa explained as Richie stood staring at the collection.

"You bought all this for me?" he asked, clearly disbelieving.

"Of course. You have to have some toys."

"Toys." Richie repeated the word derisively.

"Yes, I suppose 'toys' isn't the proper term when one is so very old," she agreed, smothering a smile. "Perhaps diversions."

"Huh?"

"Amusements?" she tried.

"Oh. Yeah, okay," he replied, dismissing the subject.

"So, which one would you like to play?"

Richie bit his lower lip. "All of them."

"All of them?" Tessa's eyes widened as she took in the large selection of games.

"Yeah, if it's okay."

"Today is your day. All of them it is."

They hijacked Duncan, who carried an armload of boxes down to the kitchen where the threesome played one game after another until Tessa called a halt to prepare dinner and shooed them out. Duncan took the opportunity to explain the origins of some of the antiques in the store to Richie who feigned interest, his gaze returning to the swords again and again. This didn't go unnoticed by the Highlander, who decided to take the bull by the horns and show Richie the katana.

"Wow," was the boy's response, as impressed with the way Duncan seemed to pull the katana out of thin air as he was with the ivory-handled sword itself.

"Careful, it's sharp," Duncan warned, when Richie ventured too close to the blade.

"How come it's not in one of the cases?" Richie asked, observant as ever.

"This one is special," Duncan confided. "I've had it a long time. It was a gift from a friend and it's not for sale."

"It's a dragon, isn't it? Just like the statue," Richie asked running a hand over the carved hilt.

"That's right," Duncan replied, pleased in spite of himself at the boy's genuine interest.

"Boy, I'd like to have a sword like that some day."

Duncan looked at the open, innocent expression on Richie's face and said a silent prayer that his wish wouldn't come true for a very long time.

"Come on, Sport, let's see if we can give Tessa a hand." Duncan secreted the sword again, to Richie's owl-eyed amazement, and led the boy back to the kitchen.

One would have thought after the huge lunch Richie consumed, that dinner would hold little interest for him. Not so. He dug into the fried chicken Tessa prepared with great relish, cleaning his plate and licking his fingers in appreciation.

Duncan and Tessa watched the boy devour everything in sight with awe, careful to keep their fingers away from his face for fear he would wolf them down too, before he realized his error.

Having emptied the dishes around him, Richie proceeded to drain his glass of milk with one long swallow, then leaned forward on the table with his fingers steepled in front of him and his scrutiny on the couple.

"Time for cake?"

Duncan was grinning widely at both the anticipatory look on Richie's face, and Tessa's distressed countenance. He knew she was wondering if they'd purchased enough groceries to last the week-he was wondering the same thing himself.

"Do you think you can wait until Duncan and I finish, Petit?"

Richie seemed to notice their half-empty plates for the first time. "Oh. Yeah, sure," he replied graciously, and flopped back in his chair.

He managed to keep quiet for all of two minutes, then a heavy sigh escaped him. This was followed shortly by the rhythmic tapping of his spoon on the table top. He had an entire percussion section going by the time Tessa set her fork down in defeat.

"Well, I'm finished," she announced drolly.

"I guess we all are," Duncan said, pushing his plate forward.

"Cake time!" Richie started to jump out of his seat, but Tessa threw out a hand to forestall him.

"I will get it. *You* may clear the table," she instructed, belatedly asserting her authority.

Richie studied the woman's face, seeing a very different Tessa from the one who had catered to his every whim all day. He quickly gathered up as much of the dirty tableware as his arms could hold and headed for the sink, rethinking his opinion that Tessa MacLeod was a soft touch.

"I wondered how long it would take you," Duncan commented, leaning toward her and grinning from ear to ear.

"I don't know what you mean," she sniffed. "I am simply letting a certain little boy know that, despite his many charms, *he* is not in charge here."

"Well, not *all* the time, anyway," Duncan quipped.

Tessa bit back a scathing retort when Richie reappeared and settled himself back in his chair. He folded his hands in his lap and regarded her expectantly.

"Oh, yes...cake," she mumbled distractedly, rising to retrieve the platter from the countertop.

After finishing his slice of cake in record time, Richie did kitchen duty-wiping off the table, counters and stovetop while Duncan and Tessa washed the dishes. He was less than enthusiastic when Tessa ordered him upstairs to bathe, but refrained from arguing when she crossed her arms and stared him down. Duncan made sure he had everything he needed for his bath, then left him to it. Afterwards, it was 'teeth, pajamas, bed, prayers,' to quote Tessa. She received a caustic glower for the prayers bit. Richie felt he was much too old for such nonsense and told her so. Tessa informed him that if neither she nor Duncan were too old, than neither was he.

"Of course, it is up to you," she added nonchalantly. "If you have nothing to be thankful for..."

Richie glared suspiciously at her. He suspected that he was being played, but couldn't prove it, and ended up saying a quick, silent prayer just to please her. The fact that he felt better for having done it was a little tidbit he kept to himself.

As promised, Tessa took Richie clothes shopping bright and early the next morning-dragging the boy from one store to another until the trunk of the car refused to hold another box or bag.

At one point she lost track of him, nearly succumbing to a fit of apoplexy before finding him in the toy department, holding a remote-control motorcycle. He set it down immediately after she appeared, and looked sheepish at being caught with a 'toy,' but continued to gaze at it longingly without saying a word.

Tessa cast a quick glance at the motorcycle. Although she wasn't thrilled with the idea of small vehicles racing around underfoot, this was something Richie could play with on his own, whenever she and Duncan were unavailable.

"Would you like to have that, Richie?"

He started to smile, but it quickly faded to a more somber expression. "I better not. It'd be too hard to leave it."

Tessa was patently baffled by this statement. "Leave it where, Petit?"

"At your place...when I go back to the home. They don't let us keep stuff like that," he explained. "It needs batteries."

"Richie, you're not going back to the orphanage."

The boy merely looked at her with eyes that seemed too old for his young face. The look said more than words ever could, and Tessa felt her heart constrict painfully.

"Richie, would we buy you all these new clothes if we were going to send you back?" she asked, reasonably. Richie shrugged. "The next kid you get could wear them."

"There isn't going to be a 'next kid,'" she informed him sharply, letting her anger over the boy's low self-esteem show through. "Come on," she said, grabbing his arm and pulling him along, "We're getting ice cream."

Tessa calmed down considerably before they reached the ice cream parlor, and steered Richie in to a small bistro for a nourishing lunch first. He didn't let her renege on her promise, however, and, afterwards, wolfed down a banana split while she nursed a small dish of lemon chiffon sorbet.

When they arrived back at the apartment, Duncan had his hands full uncrating a large Grecian urn, and Tessa took the opportunity to scurry upstairs with as many boxes and bags as she could handle, loading Richie down as well. When he protested, she shushed him quickly with a whispered, "Duncan is very busy and we don't want to disturb him."

Richie, who wasn't quite *that* young, smiled knowingly in response. "You mean he'd say something about all the stuff you bought," he interpreted.

"Don't be impertinent." Tessa's conspiratorial grin took much of the sting out of her words.

With Tessa in seventh heaven, sorting through all of the new shirts, slacks, and sundry, Richie made a beeline for the kitchen.

Duncan wheeled the crate into the showroom and removed the sides, careful not to scratch the contents. The urn was heavier than he'd counted on and he knew he was going to have trouble maneuvering it on his own. The tell-tale sounds coming from the kitchen were an answer to a prayer.

"Richie! Get your head out of the refrigerator and come in here! I need some help with this." Duncan struggled to shift an end of the large urn until a pair of sneakers appeared in his field of vision. "Grab the other side of this thing, Rich. I want to get it up onto that pedestal."

"Okay," a rather high-pitched voice answered.

Duncan abruptly stood straight and looked over the top of the urn to where a few red curls peeked over the rim. "Oh..." he groaned as current events caught up to him.

"When do you want me to lift?" Richie asked innocently, standing on tiptoe to peer over the rim at the chagrined Scot.

"Uh, maybe we'd better get Tessa to help with this one, Sport. We don't want her to feel left out," he added diplomatically, cursing his temporary memory lapse.

"I'm stronger than I look," the skinny eleven year old told him perceptively.

MacLeod weighed the loss of the urn against the crestfallen expression on Richie's face and decided it was no contest.

"Ready?" he asked, getting a good grip on the base and lip of the urn and mentally crossing his fingers.

The boy's face brightened immediately and then disappeared from sight as he bent to grab the urn around the narrowest section. "Ready."

A few minutes later the urn rested atop the pedestal, none the worse for its near brush with catastrophe when Richie tripped over his shoelaces. The pair stood by, viewing it proudly.

"We make a good team," Duncan said, clapping Richie lightly on the shoulder, and watched as the boy's face lit up.

"Anything else you need help with?" Richie asked eagerly.

"Wouldn't you rather be out playing?"

"Nah, none of my friends live around here."

Duncan could have kicked himself for not thinking of that. "You'll make a lot of friends once school starts," he assured the boy.

"You think so?"

"I know so. You have a way with people," Duncan said matter-of-factly.

"I do?" Richie appeared startled by the concept.

"Mm hmm," he murmured with the beginnings of an idea. "How would you like it if you and Tessa and I went to the park later? I'll bet if you asked her nicely, she'd fix a picnic dinner to take along."

"With the fried chicken from last night?" Richie looked up at him expectantly.

"I think that might be arranged."

"I'll go ask right now," he said, and flew out of the room, nearly careening into a gold-filigreed tapestry in his excitement.

Duncan just smiled and went back to work.

***

"Where's Richie?"

"In his room, reading."

"Reading!" Duncan was clearly astonished by the news.

"Yes, reading. I introduced him to Robert Louis Stevenson when we got home from our outing, and he was fascinated."

"This I've gotta see," Duncan remarked.

Tessa grabbed his arm as he passed. "Don't you dare. You'll make him self-conscious," she admonished. "I don't think his reading skills are quite where they should be at his age," she divulged, careful to keep her voice down.

"That fits with something he told me when we first met at the police station last year, or...oh, you know what I mean," he groaned, frustrated. "Something about him being quick, but lazy. I don't think he exactly excelled in school."

"If so, it's because he wasn't challenged," Tessa snapped, defensively.

"Or because they let him get away with not paying attention," Duncan offered, smiling at Tessa's protective maternal instincts.

"Maybe. I'll have a talk with his teachers when school starts and make sure they keep us updated on his progress, or lack of."

"*We'll* have a talk with them," he corrected.

Tessa smiled sweetly. "That's what I meant to say."

"Of course," he replied, with an inclination of his head. "You remember I have that auction tomorrow." He received a nod in response. "It shouldn't take long."

"Richie and I will enjoy a nice quiet day together in your absence."

Knowing Richie, Duncan doubted that, but let her keep her fantasy.

"So, how did your little shopping trip go?"

"Oh...I found a few things," she replied airily.

"Only a few?" Duncan asked, mimicking her tone. "I could have sworn there was a whole trunk full."

"You think you're so smart," she told him, lips pursed.

"And you, my love, never return from shopping with only a 'few' things," he retorted. When she continued to glare, he moved forward to run his hands down her arms, watching as her eyes softened, despite her attempts to remain icy towards him.

The unmistakable teeth-jarring sound of metal on metal, reminiscent of a mild fender-bender-but seemingly much closer than the street-had the couple whirling in the direction of the open bedroom door.

A startlingly loud crash followed. Duncan was already across the room, grabbing his katana as he passed, and heading for the stairs. Tessa raced to catch up with him and they reached the shop together. Duncan put his hand up to warn Tessa back, then cautiously approached the platformed area from where oddly metallic sounds were emanating even now. Watching closely, Tessa saw him rub the back of his neck distractedly and release the breath he was holding, then abruptly set his sword aside. Taking that as her cue, the Frenchwoman moved forward to join him. They stepped around the end display case in tandem to find Richie sitting on the floor amidst the scattered remains of the coat of armor, the hilt of the ornamental claymore draped across his knees.

"I didn't mean to," he wailed, before either of them could say a word. "It just fell."

"It just fell," Duncan repeated, sounding skeptical. "Maybe it had some help," he suggested, glowering down at the kid. "Maybe a certain little boy hit it with a sword."

Richie cast a furtive glance down at the claymore, then back to the angry Scot. "It was an accident," he said apprehensively, by way of an excuse. "I'll fix it," he offered, awkwardly shifting one of the larger pieces to his side.

"No, *I'll* do it," Duncan corrected, taking the sword out of the boy's lap and hoisting him carefully to his feet by one arm.

"What's this?" he demanded, noticing a drop of blood on the sword's blade.

"I don't know," Richie lied, thrusting his left hand behind his back.

Duncan sighed in exasperation and pulled Richie's arm back into view, turning the hand palm up. A small shallow cut ran from his thumb to just above his wrist.

Tessa gasped loudly, snatching his hand up to examine it. "He's hurt!"

"It's not serious, Tessa," Duncan thoughtfully pointed out to her.

"Not serious? Humph." Having made her views clear, Tessa latched on to Richie's arm and dragged him along behind her to the master bathroom, the boy nearly running to keep up with her angry strides.

Duncan shook his head and followed, watching from the doorway with a bemused expression as his better half cleaned the cut.

"Just slap a Band-Aid on it," he suggested, grinning wickedly.

"Slap a Band-Aid..." she sputtered. "*I* was not raised by barbarians, Duncan MacLeod."

Duncan smiled secretly at that and noticed Richie's inquisitive face peering at him around Tessa.

"Were *you* raised by barbarians?"

"Maybe one or two," he allowed.

"Oh," the boy said, nodding, then "What's a barbarian?"

"An uncouth savage with no conception of good hygiene," Tessa explained, throwing a remonstrative look at Duncan.

"Oh. What's uncouth?"

Duncan snorted loudly, earning another look from Tessa.

"Never mind," she instructed, wrapping a bandage around the disinfected wound. "There, that's better."

Richie stared in horrified fascination at the stark white dressing before gazing up at his nurse. "Do I have to wear this?"

"Yes, you have to wear it."

"But, it's so...clean."

Duncan broke into full-fledged laughter at that.

Tessa looked from one to the other, shaking her head fondly. "Barbarians," she muttered under her breath.

An hour later, the coat of armor stood proudly in the corner once more, none the worse for its brush with an eleven-year-old wrecking crew.

"Boy, it sure was easier to knock it down than to put it back up," Richie observed from his place between Duncan and Tessa.

Duncan reached up to readjust the armored helmet one last time. "Remember that the next time you get the urge to joust with an unsuspecting antique."

"Joust?"

"Fight," Tessa translated. "No more fighting with the merchandise."

"'Kay."

Duncan nodded thoughtfully. "While we're on the subject I think maybe it's time for some ground rules," he announced in his best authoritative tone.

Richie was already frowning.

"All right, we'll say that number one is no roughhousing in here, you already know why. Number two, no running in the store. A lot of these pieces are fragile and the vibrations alone could knock something off its stand," he explained. He paused, waiting for an argument, but Richie was regarding him silently for once. "Number three, and this is the big one, *no* handling the swords, knives, daggers-anything with a sharp edge...period," he said adamantly. "If I'm here or Tessa's here and you want to look at one, ask. But you never pick one up on your own. Got it?"

"Got it," Richie repeated unhappily. "Geez, I'm not a baby, you know. I can be careful."

"That's not the point, Richie," Duncan told him patiently. "They're called weapons for a reason. You could accidentally injure yourself very badly. You wouldn't want to get blood all over Tessa's nice white carpet, would you?" he asked, nudging the boy playfully with his elbow.

"I guess not," Richie grudgingly admitted with a small grin.

"I don't understand how he got into that case in the first place," Tessa reflected distractedly. "We always keep it locked."

She looked at Duncan, then both adults transferred their gazes to Richie.

He cast a nervous glance from one to the other. "Maybe you forgot to lock it?"

"Are you asking us, or telling us?" This from Duncan.

"Um, telling you?"

Tessa's mouth twitched as she fought to maintain a straight face, which wasn't helping Duncan in his attempt to look stern. "Okay, hand it over," he ordered, hand outstretched.

"What?" Richie asked, all innocence.

"You know what. Give me whatever it was you used to break into that case."

A mutinous expression settled on the boy's face.

"Richie, if I have to hang you up by your heels and shake it out of you, I will."

He was kidding, of course, but Richie's eyes grew very wide at the threat and he hastily reached into his pocket. "Maaan, this sucks," he groused, frowning fiercely as he handed Duncan an item that resembled a small corkscrew.

The fact that he took the threat seriously unnerved Duncan as much as the evidence that Richie was already stealing at such a young age.

"That cost me ten bucks," the boy muttered under his breath.

Duncan chose to ignore that. "I'll just hold onto this since you won't be needing it anymore."

Richie opened his mouth to protest but wisely shut it again when he saw the look the Highlander leveled at him. He kicked at the carpet instead.

"It's late," Tessa announced, defusing the situation, "and you should be in bed." She draped an arm across Richie's shoulders and steered him toward the stairs. "Take a bath, not a shower, and be sure to keep the bandage dry," she instructed. "Then teeth, pajamas, bed, prayers," she recited, giving him a gentle push to send him on his way. "We'll be up later to say good-night."

"You don't have to," Richie muttered, sullenly.

"We'll be up later," she repeated, her voice firm.

"Okay," he grumbled, and headed off.

Duncan and Tessa spent the next twenty minutes belatedly trying to child-proof the shop.

When they finally headed to the apartment for the promised good-nights, Richie was already in bed. He looked up at them with an expression reminiscent of a condemned man about to face his executioner.

"You mad at me?" he asked, hesitantly.

"No," Duncan said simply.

"Why not?" The boy sounded almost insulted which caught the couple off-guard.

Tessa looked to Duncan who gave a mental shrug before addressing Richie. "Did you knock the armor over on purpose?" he asked evenly.

"No."

"Did you cut yourself on purpose?"

"Course not," Richie answered belligerently.

"Well then. We hadn't told you not to touch the swords or play in the store before. Now we have. If you do it again, *then* we'll be mad." He studied the boy a moment. "Okay, Sport?"

"Okay," Richie agreed, appearing greatly relieved.

"And as for this little trinket," Duncan added, tossing the confiscated lock pick in the air, "we'll just keep it in a safe place. You never know when we might misplace the keys. Right?"

"Yeah, right," Richie mumbled, pouting for all he was worth.

"Good," Tessa said, stepping to the fore. "All right, teeth?"

"Done," Richie intoned.

"Prayers?"

"Done."

Tessa raised an eyebrow, but didn't argue the point. "Okay, scoot down," she instructed, and Richie obediently shifted under the covers. Tessa pulled the comforter more securely around him and leaned down to kiss his forehead.

"Sweet dreams, Petit," she murmured, and moved off into the hall.

Duncan reached out to switch off the lamp. "Nite, Richie."

"Duncan?"

"Hmm?"

"What does Petit mean?"

"It means...little man," Duncan translated, stretching the truth a bit.

"Oh. Duncan?"

"Yes, Richie," he said, turning back again.

"I'm sorry about the sword and everything."

Duncan smiled down at him. "That's okay. And Richie?"

"Yeah?"

"Call me Mac."

*********

The epithets that now and then came out of the eighteen-year-old Richie had earned him the occasional scowl from Tessa-having the same words come out of the mouth of an eleven-year-old was completely unacceptable.

Tessa made that very clear to Richie early the next day when he referred to his not being permitted to run in the shop as 'a crock of shit.'

When, during the process of making lemonade later that morning, he informed her that getting lemon juice in his newly-acquired paper cut hurt like a 'son of a bitch,' he spent thirty minutes sitting in a chair, facing the wall. A 'time out' her friends with children called it.

Richie didn't like it one bit and started to kick the wall after only fifteen minutes. Tessa endured this for all of five more before asking him if he would rather go to his room without lunch. There was dead silence after that. Of course she never would have followed through on the threat-Richie was too thin as it was-but he didn't know that, and the thought of going without food for an indefinite amount of time was a punishment to be taken very seriously, in his opinion.

Tessa had always thought her friends over-dramatized the headaches of child-rearing, but as the day wore on, she started to rethink her position on the subject.

Richie seemed to have a penchant for getting into mischief of some kind at every turn, and Tessa's quiet day had become anything but.

By the time Duncan returned from the auction in Everett later that afternoon, Tessa was feeling a bit frazzled.

Duncan knew something was up by the way she avoided his eyes, oohing and ahing over his newest acquisitions in a manner that was very unTessa-like. He let her rave about one piece after another until his amusement threatened to overflow.

"So...how did things go today? Any problems?"

"No, nothing to speak of...really," she hedged.

Duncan smiled knowingly. "Speak of it anyway. Okay, let me guess," he continued when she remained reticent. "A certain red-headed lad about yea high," he said, holding his hand at chest level, "has been leading you a merry chase."

"He's...precocious," she reluctantly admitted.

Duncan laughed. "Is that a refined way of telling me he's an unholy terror?"

"He has a lot of energy," Tessa offered diplomatically.

"Meaning he's been running through the shop again," Duncan translated.

"He's really fascinated by some of the more fragile pieces," Tessa continued.

Duncan closed his eyes. "He broke something."

"He has a very active imagination."

Duncan sighed wearily. "And he lied about it."

"Lied is such a strong word," Tessa rationalized. "Let's say he came up with an interesting explanation for the damage."

"Tessa..."

"Oh, I know, I suppose I should have punished him. But the story was so clever, and he looked so very sincere when he told it, and I thought of our Richie and I just couldn't," she confessed in a rush.

"I thought you'd learned not to let Richie's wide-eyed innocent look get to you after all this time."

She made a face at him before answering. "I did, I have. But that was Richie at eighteen. I just need a little more time to harden myself against the pixie-faced version."

He smiled condescendingly at her, earning another frown.

"All right, 'Mr. I Can Handle Anything,' you talk to him," she said, crossing her arms over her chest in obvious challenge.

"All right, I will."

After an extensive search, Duncan found Richie in the alley at the back of Tessa's workshop, hanging from his waist into the dumpster, his legs waving in the air as a counter-balance. Evidently whatever the boy was after was still out of reach and he shifted further forward to get to it, remembering belatedly the lessons he'd learned in school about gravity. He gave a small yelp of surprise when a strong hand grabbed a fistful of his pants' seat and yanked him back just as he would have tumbled inside.

Duncan picked Richie up bodily and set him on his feet, giving a good imitation of an exasperated father as he stood towering over the boy.

"What are you up to?"

"Nothing," Richie replied innocently, despite all evidence to the contrary.

Duncan frowned fiercely. "Richie, a dumpster is no place to play."

"I wasn't playing. My baseball went in there."

"I'll buy you a new baseball."

"I don't want a new one," the boy said, looking pitiful. "I've had that one since I was a kid."

"That long, huh?"

Richie missed the irony in the Scot's voice and continued to regard him with that hang-dog expression until MacLeod crumbled.

"I'll get it," he said on a defeated sigh. "You stay right here."

Duncan climbed over the side of the dumpster with little trouble and dropped down inside with a muttered oath as his leather boots sank into something moist that exuded an extremely unpleasant aroma.

"There you are," Tessa observed, stepping out the back door and draping an arm over Richie's shoulders. "I thought Duncan was with you."

"He's in there," Richie said, pointing to the dumpster.

Before Tessa could comment, Duncan reappeared, pulling himself over the side and dropping lightly to the asphalt, baseball in hand.

"Thanks, Mac."

Duncan smiled idiotically at the use of the nickname as he handed the ball back to Richie. "I think you'd better clean that off before you use it, Sport," he advised, wiping his hands on his handkerchief. "And maybe this isn't the best place to flag pop-flies," he added, with an eye to the nearby vehicles.

"Geez," the boy grumbled. "Don't play in the alley, don't play in the shop, don't run, don't touch anything. Maaan, I'm gonna go sit in my room."

"You *could* do that, I suppose," Duncan replied, ignoring the boy's pout. "Or we could go down to the park and play catch for a while."

"Really?" Richie asked, perking up at the unexpected offer. "But I don't have a glove," he said, the smile fading.

"Well, we'll just have to pick one up on the way," Duncan told him without skipping a beat.

"You mean it?"

"Go get your jacket," Duncan instructed, smiling. Richie's unadulterated joy at the prospect was catching.

The boy was gone in a flash, leaving Duncan to face an amused Tessa, whose eyes drifted from his filthy boots to the dumpster, then back to his face.

"His baseball fell in," he explained, uncomfortably.

"Of course."

"He's had it since he was a kid," he continued, feeling inexplicably defensive.

"I see. So naturally you felt compelled to climb in after it," she said, fighting back a smile.

Duncan faltered, trying to find the right words to justify his actions.

"Tessa..."

"Hmmm?"

"All right, he got to me, too," Duncan said, throwing up his hands. "He looked at me with those puppy-dog eyes and I fell for it, hook, line and sinker," he admitted ruefully. "Is that what you wanted to hear?"

"Something like that," she purred, stroking a finger down his arm. "But let's not forget the rest," she added. "Of course *I* understand it all perfectly, and I'm sure that your approach will have amazing results and Richie will learn a very valuable lesson. Thank you for showing me how it is done, Duncan," she murmured sarcastically. "From now on whenever Richie is disobedient, I'll simply take him to the park." She turned her back to him and sauntered to the door, but couldn't help making one last parting shot. "I suppose I'll have to have a glove, as well, since we'll all be spending so much time there." Her lilting laughter floated back to him as she went inside.

Richie squeezed by her in the doorway on his way back out and she gave him a quick kiss on the cheek as she passed.

"What's so funny?" he asked Duncan, gazing back over his shoulder curiously.

"Nothing," Duncan grumbled. "Remind me to have a little talk with you later."

"What'd I do?" Richie asked, ready to proclaim his innocence regardless of the crime.

"Just get in the car," Duncan replied, with a guiding hand on the boy's shoulder.

********

The remainder of the week passed without mishap, for which they were all silently grateful.

Two weeks turned into three, and both Duncan and Tessa were pleased with Richie's seemingly smooth transition in to the household. The adults had fallen into the roles of parents with an ease that surprised them both. And Richie, although still prone to come up with the random expletive, was adjusting nicely, correcting his own language whenever one or the other of them raised an eyebrow at his occasionally questionable turn of phrase.

The area that was the hardest to reconcile was the boy's complete dependency upon them. The older Richie had always maintained a certain independence, sometimes going away for a few days at a time to stay with friends, and disappearing two or three times a week in the evening due to some event he just *had* to attend. This was plainly not the case with an eleven-year-old, nor would they have tolerated it, but having him around day and night required some major adjustments of the demonstrative couple.

Tessa was eagerly awaiting the start of the school year and had already stocked up on pens, pencils, notebooks and loose-leaf binders in anticipation.

Richie's views on the topic of school differed slightly from hers, and he was apt to become truculent if she broached the subject more than once or twice a day. She knew this was mainly nerves-starting a new school in a new neighborhood would frighten the most stalwart, but she and Duncan had faith that Richie would take the school and its occupants by storm.

Tessa thought she might plan a small get-together with some of the neighborhood parents to help break the ice, for themselves as well as Richie, but Duncan's schedule had been chaotic lately as he tried to complete stocking the shop, and his long hours and her sudden single-parent duty were starting to wear on her.

"Where's Mac?"

Tessa groaned inwardly and took a deep, cleansing breath. She'd awakened that morning in a foul mood, for absolutely no good reason. Every little thing seemed to set her off and she was in danger of taking it out on whoever was handy. Unfortunately, with Duncan still sound asleep, that 'whoever' was an eleven-year-old child, and she simply refused to throw a tantrum in front of him.

"He got in very late last night. He should be up soon," she explained patiently, setting assorted bags of fruit out on the counter top.

"I'm hungry."

Another cleansing breath. "Richie, you just ate breakfast two hours ago, you couldn't possibly be hungry again this soon." She happened to glance over her shoulder in time to see the boy's face fall-his very thin face.

"Oh, all right," she surrendered. "What would you like?"

Richie's face brightened immediately. "Peanut butter?" he asked, hopefully.

"Peanut butter at nine o'clock in the morning?" she repeated, shuddering. "Well, it's your stomach."

"I'll fix it," he offered, opening the silverware drawer.

"No! No, I'll do it," Tessa assured him, ushering the boy toward the table. "You just sit down. It will only take a minute."

True to her word, Tessa set the peanut butter sandwich before him shortly thereafter and he dug into it like a starving man. She watched a moment, then returned to her chore, shaking her head at the oddities of young boys.

"Wha'cha doing?"

Tessa muttered to herself in French before answering. "I'm making ambrosia."

"Ambrosia? What's that?"

"It is a sort of fruit salad, with coconut and little marshmallows. You'll like it," she informed him.

"Yeah, I guess."

"Richie, why don't we see how long we can be quiet, all right? It will be a little game."

"Yeah...sure," he intoned. He knew this game, he'd played it before. It was called 'Richie shut-up.'

Richie sat eating his sandwich in silence as long as he could before starting to kick the legs of his chair rhythmically. A pursed-lip glare from Tessa put a stop to that, but waiting had never been his thing and she obviously didn't feel like talking. He knew he was supposed to eat in the kitchen, but she was busy and wouldn't even notice if he left. If she saw the empty plate she'd just figure he had finished. Richie picked up his sandwich and stealthily left the room.

He went to his bedroom, but there was nothing to do in there, either. He heard movement in Mac and Tessa's bedroom and, holding the sandwich behind his back, peeked in through the partially open door. The bed was empty and the shower was running. Richie giggled as the sound of Mac's slightly off-key singing drifted his way. He stepped further into the room and moved to Tessa's vanity where he examined various pieces of jewelry and oddly-shaped perfume bottles. He sprayed one and fell into a small fit of coughing as the fumes went down his throat. "Ugh, gross." Something at the corner of his vision caught his eye and he turned toward the bathroom. Mac's katana was propped against the wall near the doorway and Richie headed straight for it.

With an ear to the running shower, he set the forgotten peanut butter sandwich on the bureau and carefully hefted the sword. It took both hands to accomplish the feat-the sword was a lot heavier than he thought it would be from the way the Scot twirled it around. He practiced swishing it from side to side without dropping it and made accompanying sword noises under his breath. He was so caught up in his playacting he nearly missed the fact that the shower had been turned off and the shower door was sliding back. Moving swiftly, he propped the sword against the wall, grabbed the sandwich, and raced out of the room.

"Tessa!"

"Yes, what is it?" she answered irritably, as she barely missed giving herself a nasty cut with the paring knife.

Duncan stalked into the kitchen fresh from his shower, damp hair hanging loose on his shoulders, shirt open over a pair of jeans, katana in hand.

"There's peanut butter on my sword," he declared, glaring at her accusingly. "Peanut butter!" he repeated, obviously horrified by the very idea.

"Well, don't look at me, I didn't put it there," Tessa replied heatedly, and returned to her task.

"I know *you* didn't. Where's Richie?" he asked in a tone of voice that didn't bode well for the boy once he got his hands on him.

"I don't know where he is," she snapped, nearly matching his mood. "I can't watch him every minute, you know."

"I didn't say you could," Duncan replied defensively. "But he does require a little more supervision than an eighteen-year-old."

"A *little* more! Ha! I cannot even turn my back for a minute without him getting into something he's not supposed to," she informed him. "And the questions! I have never heard so many questions in my entire life."

"At least you can get a break from them by heading into the bathroom. I'm not so lucky, he follows me right in." Duncan was so caught up in their argument that he never sensed the pre-Immortal standing a few feet away, nor did he hear the sneakered feet moving away toward the shop. And if either he or Tessa noticed the change in the air as the front door opened and closed, neither showed it.

"Yes, but you haven't had to clean up after him," Tessa continued. "He tracked mud all over the apartment yesterday-I spent most of the day scrubbing carpets while you were off at that auction. And," she added before he could open his mouth, "he left the milk out on the counter all night. If you want cereal this morning you'll have to go to the store first," she informed him with lips pursed.

Duncan muttered something in Gaelic that she didn't quite catch as he snatched up a clean dish towel and wiped off the hilt of the katana. He tossed the used towel on the counter and turned from the room, still muttering. "Richie!"

His voice carried back to Tessa as he moved through the apartment, store and workshop calling the boy's name. After a few minutes the lack of a response started to concern her, and she hastily washed her hands and joined the search.

"He's not inside, Tessa," Duncan told her, his anger replaced by worry. "Did he go out to play?"

"I've told him not to go out without telling me," she said, retracing Duncan's steps. "Richie! Richie, answer me, please!" The building seemed unnaturally quiet all of a sudden and Tessa felt a chill go up her spine. "I'm going to call Dolman's," she said, heading for the phone in the kitchen. "You can see the park from their front window. Maybe Richie went there."

Duncan nodded. "I'll check the alley, he was climbing on the dumpster the other day. Maybe I missed him when I looked out before."

Tessa's shout halted him in mid-step.

"Duncan!"

"What is it?" he asked, rushing to her side.

She stood just outside the kitchen, staring down at the carpet. Duncan followed her gaze to the partially eaten peanut butter sandwich lying forgotten in the corner.

"Maybe he dropped it earlier," he suggested, trying to convince himself as his guts twisted.

"Don't you think I would have noticed? He heard us, Duncan," she cried in self-recrimination. "He heard the horrible things we said."

The Highlander was already on the move. Tessa scurried to keep up with his longer strides as he grabbed the keys to the T-bird and started through the shop. Something caught his eye and he swung to the left to find the stand that normally supported the jade dragon standing empty.

"He took the statue," he said absently, more to himself than her.

"I don't give a damn about any statue," she spat out. "He could have the whole place if he wanted it."

"It's not that, Tessa," he replied with his usual annoying calm. "An eleven-year-old boy wouldn't draw much attention-an eleven-year-old boy carrying a valuable antique would," he explained. "And not the right kind of attention."

"Duncan," Tessa moaned helplessly.

"Don't worry, Tessa, I'll find him. Stay by the phone," he instructed when she made as if to follow him. "He might come back on his own. I'll call in an hour and check in."

Tessa wasn't happy about it but she reluctantly agreed with his logic.

Duncan drove slowly through Seacouver, starting near the apartment and making wider circles from there, trying to sense Richie's pre-Immortal buzz. After nearly three hours of fruitless searching and a number of calls to a worried Tessa, he decided to play a hunch, and headed for Richie's old neighborhood.

He cruised the T-bird through the streets of the inner-city drawing curious stares; the vintage automobile out of place against the dirty urban landscape.

Drunks slept in doorways, drug deals were made on every street corner, and children were considered easy prey. The fact that Richie had spent a good portion of his childhood on these very streets didn't lessen the Highlander's anxiety. If anything happened to the boy, it would be his fault and he wasn't sure he could deal with that. An eleven-year-old with a soft heart could never hope to make it in The Game. That was a fact. In four-hundred years he had only encountered a few child Immortals, and none had survived very long, no more than three or four years at most.

He drove past the soup kitchen and thought of the times Richie had volunteered to help Angie with her work there. Angie. Another child of the streets. She would be here somewhere, but she had a family to look out for her and keep her safe. Then again, Angie was a possibility he hadn't considered. She had been Richie's friend, even as a young child, and there was a chance that Richie would run to her. Duncan had promised to call Tessa again on the half hour-he would have her look up the Burkes' number and give them a call, alerting them to Richie's possible arrival. It wouldn't hurt to have more people looking for him, at any rate. A boy that age had no business wandering around a big city like this one alone. When he found Richie, 'when' he repeated in his own mind, he would make that very clear.

Duncan felt his throat convulse painfully as Richie's small face flashed through his mind unbidden and he put all his concentration into trying to sense the boy once more.

As he made his fourth circuit of the area, a nagging sensation started to build at the base of his skull. It grew gradually as he continued down the avenue until it became that familiar feeling he had come to associate with Richie and other pre-Immortals. He passed an alleyway and drove on focusing his senses, but the feeling started to fade. Duncan swerved over to the curb and jumped out, quickly backtracking to the mouth of the alley on foot.

Duncan turned in to the opening to find the object of his quest being held against the far wall by a boy of about seventeen, who evidently needed the assistance of two teenage friends to restrain an eleven-year-old.

"I said, hand it over!" the kid holding Richie shouted, dragging the smaller boy toward him with a fist in his jacket front.

Duncan bit down on the anger that surged through him at the scene, and drawing upon his inner calm, stepped into the alley. "Three against one...that doesn't seem quite fair," he commented, abruptly drawing everyone's attention as he advanced.

"Well, well, well, what do we have here?" the teen restraining Richie sneered, looking the man up and down and feeling unaccountably brave with his friends at his back. "You looking for this?" he asked, lifting the smaller boy into the air and shaking him like a rat before shoving him against the wall where Richie's feet dangled a foot off the ground. "What's the matter, couldn't find any little boys to your liking on The Strip?"

"Let him go," Duncan said clearly, his jaw clenching at the insinuation.

"Take off!" the hood nearest Duncan yelled. "We'll let him go when we're done with him. He won't be damaged...much." His cohorts laughed at that, an ugly sound.

Taking advantage of the interruption, Richie lashed out with his feet, catching the teen holding him in the kneecap. The older boy yelled and abruptly dropped him onto the debris covered ground where he lost his footing, pitching forward on his knees. Richie cried out himself as a sharp piece of metal ripped through his jeans into his leg and he absently registered the fact that the statue was no longer inside his jacket but sitting a few feet away in a pile of leaves and garbage. No one else seemed to have noticed its flight.

"Shit!" the older boy cried, holding his knee and glaring at Richie where he huddled on the ground. "That was a big mistake, kid," he growled, pulling a nasty looking knife from his boot. "A real big mistake."

Duncan moved forward quickly, drawing everyone's attention once more.

"We told you to leave, mister," one of the youths in a faded Harley-Davidson t-shirt said.

Duncan smiled casually before reaching around to his left side and drawing his sword, making sure it wouldn't be visible to anyone on the street behind him.

Three pairs of eyes widened in surprise-four, if you counted Richie's.

"And *I* said, let the boy go."

"Forget this," the teen closest to Duncan muttered and bolted past him down the alley.

"Come on, Dell," the t-shirt owner said to the thug with the knife. "It ain't worth gettin' sliced up for."

Dell climbed to his feet, glaring at the larger man even as he let himself be dragged away by his friend.

As soon as they turned the corner at the mouth of the alley they broke into a dead run, their footsteps echoing back to the Highlander.

Duncan quickly sheathed the katana and closed the distance between himself and Richie. He squatted down beside the boy and looked him over closely.

"Are you hurt?" he asked, checking him from head to foot.

"No," Richie answered, refusing to meet MacLeod's eyes. "I should've figured you'd come after your stupid statue," he muttered.

"I didn't come after the dragon," Duncan explained, noticing the blood-stained tear in the boy's pants for the first time.

"Yeah, right."

Duncan frowned at that and slowly straightened Richie's leg.

"Ah!" This came out as a yelp as the boy tried to scoot backwards into the wall to escape the examination.

MacLeod gently, but firmly, held him still and continued checking the leg while Richie bit his lip to keep from crying out again.

"I don't think it's broken, but that cut's going to need stitches."

"Stitches!" Richie protested. "No way, I don't need stitches," he said, his chin set at a defiant angle.

"Richie..." Duncan began patiently.

"And you don't have to pretend like you care," the boy continued, clamping down on his lower lip when it started to quiver. He fiddled with the front of his jacket and ran a hand under his nose, sniffling loudly. "I heard what you guys said. Well, I don't need you, either. I don't need anybody!" He drew his good leg up and wrapped his arms around it, ducking his head to avoid Duncan's all-seeing eyes.

Duncan didn't have an answer to that. He also had no intention of holding this particular conversation in an alley.

"Leave me alone," Richie mumbled into his folded arms.

MacLeod set his jaw and leaned in to slide an arm under the boy's legs, lifting him effortlessly. "Not bloody likely," he said clearly, and started carrying him back towards the street with a determined stride.

"You forgot your dragon," Richie informed him, looking back over the Highlander's shoulder.

"No, I didn't."

"But I know where it is," Richie persisted, squirming slightly to get better leverage.

MacLeod didn't slow his stride at all and reached the T-bird before Richie realized it.

"I told you, Richie, I didn't come for the statue," he reiterated as he lifted the boy clear of the side of the car and settled him lengthwise on the back seat. "I came for you."

He climbed behind the wheel and started the engine as Richie shifted behind him, trying to look back toward the alley.

"Keep still," Duncan ordered, with a stern glance over his shoulder.

"But..." was all Richie got out as MacLeod sped away from the curb. The idea of leaving something worth thousands of dollars lying in the dirt was simply beyond his eleven-year-old comprehension.

Duncan called a frantic Tessa from the hospital to let her know he had found Richie safe and sound, for the most part, and that they would be home shortly. The cut on the boy's leg required fourteen stitches, which he took stoically while MacLeod stood nearby. Neither had said much since leaving the alley. Duncan was caught in an emotional tug-of-war. Part of him wanted to hug Richie and assure him that everything would be all right. The other part wanted to read him the riot act for scaring them to death. He chose the middle ground-doing neither. The boy's silence stemmed from a mixture of fear and uncertainty at the moment. He was putting on a brave front, but Duncan could read Richie like a book-in all likelihood he expected to be turned over to the police at the earliest opportunity. He looked like a scared rabbit, his eyes searching out any possible means of escape.

When the doctor announced that he would have to give Richie a tetanus shot to fight any possible infection and turned to prepare the syringe, Richie grabbed his pants, shot off the examination table, and made a beeline for the door.

Duncan was faster and snatched the boy up by the collar, frog marching him back to the table and holding him still while the doctor administered the injection.

Richie pouted after that but seemed resigned to accept whatever came next, though he didn't waste the opportunity to glare in Duncan's direction.

The doctor finally told him he could get dressed, and pulled Duncan out into the hall to discuss the boy's care.

"This prescription is for a mild antibiotic-ten days' worth," he informed Duncan, handing him a slip of paper along with a business card. "This is my office number, bring him back on Monday and I'll see if the stitches can be removed then, or you can take him to your family physician, if you prefer. Keep the bandage clean and dry, and if there's any swelling around the wound, call right away. Children's Tylenol should handle any discomfort he might have. Other than that, the boy's fine. By the way he ran across the room, I'd say he was more than fine," he proclaimed around a smile.

"Thank you," Duncan replied, shaking the proffered hand. He didn't notice the door to the examination room opening as the doctor moved off, or see the shock of red hair that appeared around the edge. Duncan turned his back to the door briefly and was rewarded with the sound of running feet.

Richie bolted past him, his sneakers squeaking on the waxed floor as he headed for the end of the hallway at top speed, despite his injury.

Duncan caught him before he had gone ten feet. Once again Richie found himself held by a strong hand in his collar as he struggled to get away, lashing out with arms and legs and spewing obscenities as MacLeod transferred his hold to the boy's upper left arm.

"Richie, stop that, you'll tear the stitches," Duncan said firmly, grunting as a sneakered foot made contact with his shin.

When Richie's struggles continued, Duncan shook his head wearily and grasped the boy around the middle, pulling him up under his arm and holding him like a sack of potatoes.

"Lemme go! You can't do this, I'll call the police!"

"Why don't I call them for you?" Duncan asked, his tone casual.

Richie went completely still at that and just hung loosely from the Highlander's arm.

"Are you ready to behave?"

The boy's answer was muffled by Duncan's pants' leg.

"What was that?" Duncan asked.

"Yes!" Richie shouted this time.

"Good." Duncan righted him, noting the grimace the kid tried to hide as he put weight on his left leg. He ran a gentle hand through the head of wild curls. "Let's go home, Richie."

MacLeod kept a tight grip on the boy's shoulder all the way to the car.

An hour later, Richie sat tucked up in bed with a cup of hot chocolate in his hands while Tessa puttered around his room, straightening things that didn't need straightening and casting glances at the boy, who had been uncharacteristically silent since Duncan returned with him. "Do you need anything? Are you in any pain?"

"No," Richie mumbled, his eyes locked on the untouched drink in his hands.

"You must be very hungry, you missed lunch." They all had, actually, though she only realized it at that moment. "How about a piece of cake to tide you over? I'm sure it won't spoil your dinner," she added, trying to justify it in her own mind.

"No, thank you," he intoned politely.

"But you must eat something, Petit," Tessa persevered.

"I'm not hungry," he said softly.

Nothing could have upset Tessa more.

"I'll leave this bell right here," she said, placing the object on the nightstand. "If you want anything, you just have to ring it, all right?"

Richie nodded without speaking, another bad sign in her opinion.

Tessa reached out to brush back his curls, then hesitantly drew her hand away, afraid he might rebuff the gesture. She settled for pulling the covers more securely around him before backing out of the room.

Duncan was in his office trying to concentrate on some neglected business, without much success, when she came in. "How is he?"

"The same," she replied. "He looks so small, Duncan." She leaned back against the wall, shaking her head wearily. "How could I have been so cruel?"

That got the Scot's back up in a hurry. "Tessa, I don't want you blaming yourself for any of this. We'll give Richie some time to rest, then we'll have a talk with him. He'll understand."

"Will he? He's a child, Duncan, and he's been hurt so many times by authority figures. Now he'll just add us to the list of people he can't trust," she said just above a whisper. "And it breaks my heart."

"Tessa, don't," he said, coming around the desk to pull her up against him. She drew from his seemingly endless reserve of strength, then pushed away from him.

"I'm going to run out and get his prescription filled. I'll pick up some Rocky Road ice cream, too," she added as an afterthought.

"Damn," Duncan swore, once she left the room, feeling helpless in the face of her pain...and Richie's. After four hundred years he felt that he should have learned how to deal with the occasional emotional crisis without letting all the inner turmoil bubble to the surface, especially when it was as much his fault as anyone else's. He punched the wall, wincing even as his recuperative powers eased the pain almost immediately, and strode out of the study.

He was angry at himself for letting his anger get the better of him. He was angry with Richie for worrying them. On some level he was even angry with Tessa for not being angry with anyone.

All these thoughts were winding through his head as he stalked across the apartment. Finding Richie standing in front of the couch in the living room, instead of in his room where he was supposed to be, just added fuel to the fire.

"What are you doing out of bed?" he snapped.

"I'm all ready," Richie said, with no show of emotion at all.

"Ready for what?" Duncan asked, his tone sharp.

"To go back to child services," Richie explained patiently.

"Back to..." Duncan didn't finish the thought as he noticed the small battered suitcase for the first time, his anger disappeared as the full implications of the scene before him hit home.

Noticing where his attention was focused, Richie suddenly stiffened. "I didn't take anything except the stuff I brought with me. Go ahead and check if you want."

MacLeod swung his gaze back to the boy's face in time to see the hurt that flashed quickly across the surface before he could smother it.

"Richie, sit down," he said gently, motioning to the couch.

"They close at five, you know," the boy said, on the defensive now.

"Sit," Duncan repeated

"What do you think I am, a dog or something?"

Duncan sighed as he recognized the unmistakable Ryan stubborn streak. He was determined not to get into a battle of wits with an eleven-year-old.

"What I think you are is determined to make me lose my temper." Duncan smiled disarmingly at him. "And it's not going to work."

Richie blinked rapidly and suddenly looked uncertain.

"Now," Mac continued, sitting down on the couch to the boy's left, "we're going to talk about the conversation you overheard this morning."

Richie slowly sank down onto his side of the couch, all his bravado gone. "There's nothing to talk about," he muttered miserably. "You're not the first people who wanted to get rid of me after a couple weeks."

"Richie, why do you think Tessa and I would want to get rid of you?"

"I ask a lot of questions," he reminded him.

"That's true," Duncan agreed, noting how the boy's frown grew at this. "What, you don't think you ask a lot of questions?"

"Maybe...I gotta. How am I gonna learn anything if I don't ask questions?" he reasoned.

Duncan smiled at the adult-like logic in that. "Good point. Just keep in mind that Tessa and I don't know everything."

"You know a lot more stuff than any of my other foster parents," Richie told him with assurance.

"I'm sure they knew quite a few things," Duncan replied, wondering why he was defending people he had never met.

"Nah. Besides, whenever I asked them anything they just told me to shut up and quit bothering 'em." He pulled on the front of his jacket without meeting MacLeod's eyes. "I've got chronic diarrhea of the mouth," he said very seriously.

"What!?"

"It means I talk too much," Richie explained patiently.

"I know what it means," Duncan said angrily, turning away so the boy wouldn't see the look on his face. "I don't like that phrase, Richie," he told him sternly, under control once more.

The boy snorted at that. "Yeah, well, I don't like it much either."

Duncan sighed heavily. This conversation was getting away from him... fast. "Richie," he said, placing a hand on the boy's shoulder. "You don't have...you don't talk too much. Well, maybe sometimes..." He stopped to gather his thoughts. "Richie, you're curious and bright, that's why you ask so many questions. When someone doesn't know the answer to a question, sometimes they get angry with the person who asked it, so they say something unkind, like..."

"Like shut up and don't bother me?" Richie suggested.

"Exactly, or they tell that person that he talks too much. Do you understand what I'm saying?"

"Yeah... my other foster parents were kind of stupid," he replied bluntly.

Duncan nearly choked on that bit of logic and looked at the boy reproachfully. "Richie, it's rude to call people stupid...even when they are."

Richie giggled at that and gave MacLeod a hesitant smile.

Duncan caught himself smiling back before he could stop himself. "Well, for those rare occasions when Tessa or I don't have all the answers, maybe we'd better check into getting an encyclopedia. Then you could look up the answers for yourself."

"A book?" Richie asked in horror.

"A whole bunch of books," Duncan said wickedly. "Big, heavy books."

"Um...maybe, maybe I could ask fewer questions," Richie offered hopefully.

"Maybe. I still think I'll look into purchasing a set," he added, trying not to laugh at the look on the boy's face.

"Geez."

"Now," Duncan continued, getting back to business, "why don't we discuss muddy sneakers and leaving food out all night."

"I didn't know my sneakers had mud on 'em," he said defensively.

"All right, fair enough. From now on just wipe your feet before you come in and Tessa will be a much happier person. And as far as food... Tessa and I don't mind if you raid the fridge, just remember to put things away when you're finished, and clean up after yourself. You can do that, can't you?"

"Yeah," Richie admitted. "I'm sorry I made a mess," he said sincerely.

"I know. You can tell Tessa that when she gets back."

"Now then...swords." Duncan's voice had dropped considerably and Richie squirmed on the seat beside him. "Didn't we have a talk about what was off limits, and didn't that most definitely include anything sharp?"

"I forgot," Richie mumbled.

Duncan merely raised an eyebrow and continued to study him intently. Richie fidgeted under the close appraisal and kicked at the coffee table.

"*Did* you forget, Richie?" Duncan asked gently, when the boy remained silent.

Richie's chin dropped to his chest and he shook his head slowly without looking up.

Duncan reached over and lifted the boy's chin, forcing Richie to look directly at him. "I like swords, too," he confided, "but they're not toys. You could seriously hurt yourself, or someone else, without meaning to. You are *not* to handle any of the swords or knives without either Tessa or myself present," he said sternly, grasping the boy's chin firmly. "And my katana is not to be touched...ever. Is that understood?" His tone did not brook an argument.

"Yes, sir," Richie toned with eyes wide.

"Good," Duncan said, releasing the boy's chin and chucking him under it lightly.

"Are you happy here with us, Richie?"

Richie was taken off-guard by the question. "Hell..." Duncan's eyes narrowed at that so the boy quickly rephrased it. "Uh, heck...heck yeah. I've never been any place this nice before. And you and Tessa are really cool."

"Cool, huh?" Duncan murmured, smiling.

"Yeah. You guys never make me eat all my vegetables and Tessa bought me new clothes-even if she didn't let me get the torn jeans-and you take me places and you let me help sometimes and you don't yell at me...much...and I've got my own room-which is super cool-even if you guys don't own a TV-which is really weird and..."

"Richie, breathe," Duncan ordered, concerned for the boy's health.

Richie just gazed up at him and flopped back on the couch.

"Well, I'm glad that's settled," Duncan added in amusement.

Richie fidgeted, looking decidedly uncomfortable. "I stole the dragon," he said, at last.

"I know," Duncan replied calmly.

"Aren't you mad?"

"Should I be?"

"Geez, yeah. I pinched a lighter off my last foster father, and when he found out about it he broke my finger," he explained, holding up the digit in question.

Duncan MacLeod of the clan MacLeod thought he was going to be sick.

"I don't think he meant to," Richie mused, "but he was pretty drunk."

The boy was so casual in his description of an episode that must have been terrifying to a child that all the Highlander could do was stare at him in amazement.

"Richie, not everyone is like that," he asserted gently, once he found his voice again. Not for the first time he wondered how *their* Richie had made it to eighteen with even a modicum of decency left in him, let alone the heart of gold that he and Tessa had discovered underneath that wiseguy facade he liked to wear.

"Yeah, I know. I guess he wasn't a very happy person," the boy reflected, wisely.

Duncan had to keep reminding himself that Richie was only eleven-sometimes he wore the face of someone much older. "No, I guess he wasn't," he agreed, feeling unabashedly proud of the child beside him. "Richie," he started, changing the subject somewhat, "why *did* you take the statue?"

"I don't know," the boy admitted. "I was mad, I guess. I thought it would be different this time...but it wasn't," he mumbled. "You guys didn't want me either."

Duncan felt his stomach tense at the boy's words and the lost look on his face. Even knowing about his future and the pain he'd endured in that other timeline, he and Tessa had still managed to inflict a wound on this innocent child, despite their best intentions.

"Richie," he said, kneeling down in front of the boy, "we *do* want you, very much. Tessa and I were angry with you and out of sorts, and we said some things in anger that you weren't meant to hear. We're both very sorry we hurt you."

The boy sat up straighter at that, squaring his shoulders. "You didn't hurt me," he declared defiantly. "You can't hurt somebody with just words."

A wry smile crossed MacLeod's face and he looked away as memories of Ian MacLeod came to him unbidden. "Words can cut deeper than any sword, and sometimes the wounds never heal." He looked up to find Richie studying him solemnly.

"You been hurt, huh?" There was that old face again.

"A few times."

"It's okay," Richie assured the Scot, patting his arm consolingly. "What doesn't kill you makes you stronger." Noting the man's look of astonishment, he added "The doctor at the hospital told me that when she set my finger."

"Smart lady," Duncan observed.

"Yeah...and pretty, too," Richie commented, with an impish grin.

"You *are* only eleven, right?" Duncan was trying very hard not to smile.

"Uh-huh."

"Good," the Highlander added cryptically, picturing the years to come and silently dreading the onset of Richie's puberty.

"Did you mean it, what you said?"

"What?" Duncan asked, confused.

"About me being bright, did you mean it?"

"Of course I meant it. Why, is that so hard to believe?"

Richie shrugged his small shoulders. "Nobody ever told me that before."

"Well, I'm telling you-you're bright. Got it?" he said firmly, squeezing the boy's arm.

"Got it."

"Good. Don't let it go to your head," Duncan advised, popping the boy playfully on the back of his head to emphasize the point.

"You're really not mad? You don't want me to leave?"

"Richie, the subject's closed, we won't mention it again. Tessa and I want you here with us, and you want to be here." Duncan stood and pulled Richie up with him. "So you just take your butt back in there and unpack," he instructed. "And I suggest you be in bed when Tessa gets home or she'll skin you alive," he advised, grinning, "and me along with you."

"Okay," Richie said, obviously at a loss to understand the situation. He'd never had an adult reason with him, or show more than a casual concern for his safety, and never had anyone-foster family *or* case worker-given him a second chance after he screwed up.

He reached down and picked up his suitcase, then stood looking up at Duncan with an expression of such longing on his small face that MacLeod threw caution to the winds and pulled the boy into a fierce hug. Richie accepted the display of affection unreservedly, wrapping his free arm around the Scot and burying his face in the man's shirt. Duncan let Richie pull away when he was ready before smiling down at him and ruffling his hair. He turned the boy toward his room and popped him on the seat of his jeans. "Back to bed, you."

"I'm going." He turned back after a few feet.

"Hey, Mac?"

"Yeah?"

"How come you had your sword with you?"

MacLeod had wondered when the subject would come up. "I always carry it. It's sort of a good luck charm."

"Oh," the boy commented, then tilted his head to the side. "A rabbit's foot would be easier," he said matter-of-factly before walking on.

Duncan watched until the boy was out of sight, then sniffed once and turned, freezing in place.

Tessa stood in the doorway to her workshop, a soft smile on her lips and tears running unheeded down her face. "I love you, Duncan MacLeod."

He went to her and gathered her in his arms.

"It's going to be all right, isn't it?" she murmured into his shoulder.

"It's going to be fine," he replied with conviction, and believed it.

Tessa discreetly gave Richie enough time to get into his pajamas and climb back into bed before making an appearance. Replacing the now tepid cup of chocolate with a glass of milk, she casually set the Game Boy she'd purchased on a whim down beside it. She'd have Duncan get the new nineteen-inch color television out of the car later, after she found time to tell him about it.

Richie, for his part, had suddenly turned shy-repeatedly casting glances up at her, then back to his lap until she thought she would scream in frustration. He finally managed to bolster his courage and, after a surreptitious look at MacLeod, found his voice.

"Tessa, I..."

"What is it, Petit?" she asked, rushing to sit beside him. "Is your leg bothering you? Do you want some Tylenol?" she rattled off.

"No, I...I'm sorry about the mud on the floor. I won't do it again," he promised sincerely.

"Oh," Tessa gasped out. Tears sprang to her eyes as she wrapped her arms around Richie and pulled him into a bone-crushing hug. His eyes widened and he shot Duncan a startled look over her shoulder, but the Scot merely grinned back at him, enjoying every moment.

When Tessa finally released him and drew back, Richie smiled sheepishly at her, his face coloring even more when she brushed away a stray curl and kissed his forehead.

"You're not mad at me anymore?"

"No, Sweet, I'm not mad, at least not about the carpet. I am *very* angry with you for running away," she told him sternly. "You must never do such a thing again. Do you understand?"

Richie frowned at the lecturing tone, but nodded.

"Good," she said, all smiles now. "Do you think you might be able to force something down?"

"I'm close to starving to death," he announced dramatically, his voice cracking.

"Oh, my, we cannot have that," she declared. "What would you like to eat?"

"Well..."

"What, Petit?" she prompted.

"Could we have pizza?"

Duncan and Tessa traded grins.

"Pizza it is," Duncan agreed. "What do you want on it? Pepperoni?"

"Uh-huh."

"Sausage?"

"Yeah."

"Anchovies?"

"Oh, gross!"

"I'll take that as a no."

Richie was back to his animated self by the time dinner arrived, talking a mile a minute and gesturing wildly while describing his encounter with the teenagers in the alley. Duncan merely smiled when the number of hoods rose from three to five, all knife-toting killers. And he thought Tessa's shocked expression when Richie proclaimed "And they almost wet their pants when Mac drew his katana," was priceless. Duncan silently decided that he was going to have to have a long talk with the boy about what was considered proper conversation in mixed company-or at the dinner table, for that matter.

Richie had wound down considerably by the time he finished his double helping of Rocky Road ice cream, but resisted whole-heartedly the notion that he was tired and should go right to bed-at only eight o'clock in the evening. He was quickly outvoted by a majority of two to one, which didn't stop him from expressing his opinion of the voting process in very colorful terms as he was escorted to his room. He was permitted to bypass his bath due to the bandage on his leg, and washed up at the sink instead. Then it was 'teeth, pajamas, bed, prayers.' He mimicked Tessa's nightly mantra, earning a raised eyebrow from the lady in question. He threw her a cheeky grin as he pulled his pajamas out from under his pillow and waited for her to leave the room.

"All right, I'm going," she said, and smiled conspiratorially at Duncan. Richie at eleven was a good deal more modest than Richie at eighteen. If she had a dollar for every time he'd strolled through the apartment in just his boxer shorts...she left the thought unfinished when she noticed the boy's grimace as he sat down on the edge of his bed.

"Is your leg bothering you?"

"Nah, not much," he answered noncommittally.

Tessa and Duncan exchanged looks and the Scot went back into the bathroom, returning with a glass of water and two children's Tylenol.

"Here, Toughguy, doctor's orders."

Richie accepted the pills grudgingly and washed them down while Tessa and Duncan watched. Tessa nodded, satisfied, and left so he could change. Duncan returned the empty glass to the bathroom, picked up the clothes Richie dropped on the floor-some things never change-placed them neatly on the desk chair, and ushered the boy into bed. Tessa returned after a few minutes, made sure he'd said his prayers, tucked the covers around him while he rolled his eyes at Duncan, asked if he needed anything, and finally let Duncan drag her from the room.

Richie fell asleep almost immediately, thanks to the combined effects of the medication and a full stomach, but awoke abruptly when he happened to roll over on the arm that received the tetanus shot. The doctor had said it would be sore for a while and he was right.

He made a quick trip to the bathroom, then padded over to the door. The light was on in the hall, so he figured it wasn't very late and decided to get a glass of milk before heading back to bed. He heard voices coming from the shop as he approached and stopped, remaining out of sight, when he heard the topic of conversation.

"What about the statue, Duncan?" Tessa asked, running a cloth over a 17th century figurine. "Are you going back for it?"

"No. I don't want Richie to think it had anything to do with my going after him. His pride has taken a lot of bruising today, Tessa. I think it's important that he know that nothing means more to us than he does."

"You're right." She placed the figurine back in its nook, laughing suddenly. "Some poor soul is going to get quite a surprise when he starts rummaging through the garbage in that alley."

"They probably won't have any idea that they're holding twenty-five thousand dollars in their hands," Duncan added, smiling wryly at the irony.

Richie didn't hear anything after that. The words 'twenty-five thousand dollars' kept repeating in his head until he thought he was going to lose his dinner. He headed back to his room as fast as his sore leg would carry him.

Once into cleaning mode, Tessa decided that nothing would do but that Duncan help her move some of the larger objets d'art so that she might clean the areas around them as well. The Scot suspected she was trying to work off some of her residual anxiety from earlier in the day, and graciously complied until there was nothing left to clean.

"It's been a long day. What do you say we turn in?"

"Yes, bed does sound wonderful," she agreed, smiling warmly at him. "I just want to check on Richie and make sure he doesn't need anything."

"Go ahead. I'll pick up a little in here before I head in." He was in the process of placing a pair of bronze French Torcheres back in their settings when Tessa's cry echoed through the room.

"He's gone!'

"What do you mean, 'he's gone?'" Duncan demanded, catching one of the lamps as it toppled.

"I mean, he's gone," Tessa restated. "He's not in his room...he's not anywhere," she cried, waving her arms around to encompass the shop and living quarters. "Why would he leave? He was so happy during dinner. He forgave us, I know he did." She was rambling now, following along in Duncan's wake as he re-searched every inch of the building. "I don't understand."

"I don't either," Duncan admitted. "It couldn't have been an act," he said, more to himself than her. He ran a hand tiredly across his eyes and vividly pictured himself throttling the kid. "All right, I'll start looking right away."

"If you think I'm going to sit here once more doing nothing while you go out and search, you can think again, Duncan MacLeod. God knows how long he's been wandering around alone out there in the dark. I won't have it," she announced cryptically. "I just won't have it!"

Evidently the time of day had a lot to do with Tessa's anxiety level. Richie missing in the morning was one thing, Richie missing at night inspired a much stronger reaction from the Frenchwoman who flew into a panic and was beyond reasoning with. She had picked up the phone with every intention of dialing the police, the Burkes and anyone else she could think of, when Richie came strutting through the front door as if he hadn't a care in the world. That was until he noticed his welcoming committee.

The threesome stood staring dumbly at each other in silence...for all of ten seconds.

"Where in God's name have you been!" Duncan thundered, suddenly finding his voice, and the boy took an involuntary step backward, which didn't do him a bit of good as the adults advanced upon him.

Tessa rushed past Duncan and threw her arms around Richie, giving him a quick, hard hug. "Richie, thank goodness you're all right." She frowned then, and her hands came to rest on her hips as her face grew very stern. "Young man, you had better have a very good explanation for this."

Richie gazed up at the two very angry adults and swallowed hard. He slowly reached into the front of his partially zipped jacket, and withdrew the jade dragon, cradling it to his chest like a security blanket.

"I was getting this," the boy explained, holding the dragon out to them.

Duncan snatched the statue out of his hand. "Bullocks," he swore under his breath before shifting his glare back to the boy. "You went back to that neighborhood...alone...at night!" MacLeod's volume rose incrementally with each word. "Of all the... Don't you know how dangerous that was!"

"I had to," Richie declared.

"And your leg," Tessa cried, adding her protests. "You shouldn't have been doing all that walking."

"I didn't walk all that much. I got a ride."

"What?" Duncan's eyes narrowed as he stood looming over the boy.

"You know, I got a lift," Richie explained ingenuously, hooking his thumb out in a hitching action.

"You got into a car with a stranger?"

Duncan's tone was dangerously low, and Richie swallowed again, hard. He shifted his gaze to Tessa, but her face had gone white as a sheet at his words.

"What were you thinking? You have to know better than that! Do you have any idea what could have happened to you...and we wouldn't have even known you were gone!"

"I had to," Richie cried again, passionately, at the end of the Scot's diatribe. "Thinking about what it cost and how you couldn't get another one and how it was all my fault made my stomach hurt," he said in a rush.

Duncan and Tessa looked at each other helplessly at his confession, feeling somewhat bereft at the abrupt loss of their anger.

"Richie, I told you, Tessa and I don't care about the dragon, or the cost." Duncan had dropped back to his normal tone of voice, but he was still frowning mightily.

"I care." Richie's face was very solemn as he stood looking up at them. "You don't steal from your friends."

Tessa had to bite her lip to keep from pointing out that you don't steal...period.

Richie was eyeing the Highlander with some trepidation. "Are you gonna punish me?"

"No," Duncan said on a weary sigh, "not this time." He turned Richie to face him fully. "Not if you give us your word you won't ever go off on you own again without permission. And that you will never, *ever*, accept a ride from someone you don't know."

The boy seemed to give this a great deal of thought, then nodded to himself. He raised his hand and spit into the palm before offering it to Duncan with a very serious expression.

MacLeod studied the proffered hand with some surprise. This was evidently some adolescent American ceremony he wasn't familiar with. He gave a mental shrug, spit into the palm of his right hand and grasped the boy's small hand in his, giving it a firm shake.

Richie nodded again solemnly, before shifting his gaze to Tessa. He stepped over to her and offered the same hand. Her reaction differed slightly from Duncan's.

"Um, I'll just take your word for it," she informed the boy, leading him to the bathroom off the shop. "Wash," she instructed, placing the liquid soap within reach.

Duncan chuckled softly and went to hug her but a raised hand stopped him.

"You, too," she said, pointing to the sink.

MacLeod caught Richie's eye. "Women," he said, grinning.

"Yeah, what ya gonna do?" Richie replied, sounding old for his years.

Tessa looked from one to the other, shaking her head. "Men," she returned, clearly unimpressed.

Richie smiled openly at being included in the latter category and Tessa returned the smile before herding him back to bed with strict orders to stay there this time.

***********

August twenty-fourth rolled around again, and though Tessa was adamant in her refusal to celebrate her twenty-ninth birthday *again*, they did go through the motions for Richie's sake.

Duncan helped him pick out a lovely aquamarine blouse for her and wisely let the store wrap it. Tessa gushed appropriately over the gift, causing Richie to wear a pleased grin for the better part of the evening. He took great pains to tell them, just in case they didn't know, that he would turn twelve in a month's time.

A few weeks later school finally started and both Duncan and Tessa found that they missed Richie's constant chatter during the day. Of course, he tried to make up for lost time when school was out, following one or the other from room to room until he had exhausted his repertoire of new and exciting facts and figures. Obviously a new school with teachers who showed an interest in his progress made a world of difference in his attitude toward the subject matter.

He had also taken to emulating Duncan, standing just out of range while the Scot did his daily katas and trying to copy the moves. Tessa used up an entire roll of film of Duncan patiently instructing Richie in the proper stances and kicks-laughing in spite of herself when one of Richie's earliest attempts at a roundhouse kick caught the Highlander in a very vulnerable area.

Richie remained frozen in place with a look of complete terror on his face until Duncan managed to choke out that that was one way to take out a larger opponent, and playfully punched the boy's shoulder, smiling down at him until he received a grateful smile in return.

Despite his small stature, Richie was a big help around the store, charming customers with his quick smile and easy banter, and dusting the more fragile items with infinite care for their safety. And when a new shipment came in, the couple took great pains to listen to his opinion on where the pieces should be displayed, finding to their surprise that he had a good eye for color and light. Tessa determined then and there that Richie would be tutored in the arts.

Of course he still wasn't a little angel-far from it. He managed to get into trouble on a fairly regular basis. His stunts ranged from taking a pearl-handled dagger in to school for show and tell-to giving a thirteen-year-old, who dwarfed him in size, a bloody nose for referring to Tessa as a 'stone-cold fox.'

His most recent escapade-showing a new friend from school how to break into a car-courtesy of Duncan's T-bird-got him grounded for the weekend. No friends, no games, no television-lots of extra chores. And extra chores always seemed to include sweeping out Tessa's workshop.

Richie had become so accomplished at sweeping that Duncan jokingly offered to have the boy's name emblazoned on the broom handle.

"If he ever does anything like this again, something will be emblazoned all right, but it won't be a broom handle," Tessa vowed, glaring down at Richie briefly.

Giving this threat the attention it deserved, Duncan and Richie shared a smile as soon as her back was turned.

After nearly four weeks of not-so-subtle hints, they all celebrated Richie's twelfth birthday a few days later. Following a matinee showing of "Aliens" that had Richie sitting on the edge of his seat-and Tessa trying to crawl under hers-they adjourned to 'Show-Biz Pizza,' where Duncan and Tessa sat huddled in a corner, staring in horror at the throngs of running, screaming children surrounding them. One large pizza, two pitchers of soda and four aspirins later, they headed for the safety and quiet of the apartment to enjoy chocolate birthday cake. Richie enjoyed it, at any rate. After a day of stomach-popping Aliens, popcorn and pizza, Tessa did no more than push her slice around on the plate and nurse a cup of hot tea.

Richie nearly swallowed his cake whole, eager to get to his presents. He'd never seen so many gifts for just one person before-not even at Christmas-and was spellbound by the many-colored wrappings...which didn't prevent him from shredding the paper in a matter of seconds to get to the boxes underneath. Five gifts; a pair of high-tops that Richie claimed absolutely everybody else at school had, a miniature pottery wheel (Tessa's idea), a sweat-suit (Duncan's idea), and a basketball and hoop. It was the last present that made the boy's mouth drop open-the red remote-control motorcycle he'd seen on his first shopping trip with Tessa.

His eyes slid from the bike to Tessa's face and she gazed back, raising an eyebrow as if daring him to refuse it. He smiled instead and tore the box open while Duncan presented him with two D batteries. The remainder of the day was spent trying to avoid the small projectile as it rocketed through the apartment with Richie in hot pursuit.

Barely two weeks later, Richie was sweeping out the workshop...again. The offense this time, telling an obnoxious customer where he could stick his gold card.

With Richie working on his extra chores, Duncan decided to handle one of his own and pulled a tarp from the workshop table, stepping outside to drape it over the backseat of the T-bird.

"Where ya going?"

He swung around to find Richie, broom in hand, looking up at him from the doorway.

"To pick up a shipment," he answered, completing his task.

"Can I come?"

"I don't think so."

"Pleeease."

Duncan opened his mouth to say no, but the sanguine expression on the boy's face did him in.

"You'll have to ask Tessa."

Richie's face fell, but he trailed along behind the Scot to the kitchen.

"I'm going over to Pedersen's warehouse to pick up the Pietra Duva table that came in," Duncan announced, grabbing his coat from one of the chairs.

Tessa barely looked up from the bowl of cookie dough she was mixing. "He's letting you pick it up on a Sunday?"

"He had a negotiation meeting with some union reps, so it's not putting him out," Duncan informed her. "I shouldn't be long."

"Can I go?" Richie asked in the same pleading voice he'd used on Duncan.

"He *could* help," Duncan offered sheepishly in the silence that followed.

Tessa sighed heavily in the face of the puppy dog looks they both wore. "I should have known you'd be the first to crumble, Duncan MacLeod," she muttered accusingly as Richie continued to gaze up at her. "Oh, all right," she cried, relenting. "But put on your jacket, it's not summer any longer, you know."

"Thanks, Tessa," Richie said, propping the broom against the wall and rushing to give her a quick hug.

She hugged him back fiercely and nearly missed the wink Duncan shot the boy.

"Oh, I see," she declared, pushing Richie toward Duncan and glaring at them with her arms crossed. "This was a conspiracy. You are in cowhooves."

"Uh, that's cahoots, Tessa," Duncan corrected, biting the inside of his cheek.

"That is what I said."

"Cow hooves," Richie chortled, doubled over with laughter.

Tessa's eyes narrowed dangerously at that.

"I think we'd better go, Rich," Duncan advised, barely containing his own amusement as he hastily pulled the boy out the door. Their laughter filtered back to her and she took her frustration out on the cookie dough, pummeling it mercilessly.

It was a typical early October afternoon-a mixture of sunshine and clouds-and Duncan was enjoying what might be one of the last chances to drive with the top down this year. He pulled the T-bird up in front of the warehouse dock doors and he and Richie climbed out.

"Maybe we could stop and get some ice cream on the way home," Richie suggested, taking three steps for each of Duncan's.

"We're picking up the parcel and going straight home. You're still grounded, buster, in case you'd forgotten." He noticed the boy's attempt to match his strides, and slowed his pace somewhat.

"That sucks," Richie griped.

Duncan frowned down at him for that little observation.

"Well, it does," Richie said, undaunted.

As they turned the corner, MacLeod stopped short as he sensed the buzz of a full-fledged Immortal. He nearly drew his sword before he remembered Richie standing beside him, oblivious to any danger.

Duncan quickly scanned the area, then guided the boy to a gap between two large crates.

"Richie, I want you to stay here until I come back."

"Why, Mac? What's wrong?" the boy asked, looking around with sudden apprehension.

"Maybe nothing, but I need you to stay here awhile, okay?"

"Okay," Richie agreed reluctantly, stepping back out of sight.

As soon as Duncan was out of Richie's field of vision he drew his katana and moved in the direction his senses led him. A strong sensation to his left swung him around to that side just as a well-dressed man stepped out into the open, his sword ready.

"I'm not here for you," MacLeod announced, his voice steady. "You can walk away."

"I'm afraid that's not an option," the man said, almost regretfully. "David Jenard, at your service," he offered with an inclination of his head.

"Duncan MacLeod of the clan MacLeod," Duncan intoned a millisecond before feeling a faint tingle at the back of his head.

"Mac..."

While keeping an eye on Jenard, Duncan made a half-turn to find Richie peering anxiously at him around the corner of a forklift.

"Richie, go back," he ordered, trying to still the rapid beating in his chest. He could only hope that either Jenard couldn't sense the pre-Immortal, or that his own, stronger buzz would drown the boy's out.

"Mac, what's going on? Who's that?" Richie asked, edging closer to Duncan's side, blue eyes wide in an otherwise pale face.

MacLeod looked from the boy to Jenard, afraid that if Richie moved away from him his buzz might be distinguishable from his own. There were many Immortals who wouldn't sink to the level of child-killer, but Duncan wasn't willing to bet Richie's life on the chance that Jenard was one of them.

He placed a hand on Richie's shoulder and addressed the other Immortal. "The boy's not a part of this. Let me take him out of here and I'll be back-my word on it."

Jenard studied him a moment, as if taking the measure of the man, then nodded. "Agreed, Duncan MacLeod, of the clan MacLeod," he uttered, lowering his sword fractionally. "Five minutes, no longer."

Duncan took Richie by the arm and half-led, half-dragged him back the way they had come and out into the bright sunlight.

"Get in the car," he ordered, opening the passenger side door and pushing the kid inside. He closed the door behind the boy and leaned heavily upon it.

"Stay here, Richie. Don't leave this spot no matter what you hear...or see."

"But, Mac, you..."

"Do what I tell you," Duncan said harshly, gripping the boy's shoulders and giving him a firm shake. "If I'm not back in twenty minutes, find a phone and call Tessa. Have her come and get you, but don't go back inside. Do you understand?" he asked with another small shake.

"Yes," Richie said, though it was obvious from the look on his face that he understood little of what was happening.

Duncan nodded, releasing the boy's shoulders to place a gentle hand on either side of his small, frightened face. "I'll be back," he promised, then turned and disappeared back into the darkness of the warehouse.

Richie shivered as a cloud passed overhead, blocking out the sun's rays and casting a shadow over his world. He huddled down into the soft leather seat, drawing Mac's coat over him and seeking comfort from the now familiar scent.

Jenard adopted an en guarde position as soon as MacLeod reappeared, his rapier held before him-an extension of his arm.

The two men circled each other, drawing closer until their swords clashed, driving first one then the other back. Jenard was an experienced fighter and Duncan scored only one minor hit before the level of the fight escalated.

Hits were coming faster now and both men's shirts showed evidence of this with rents and dried blood across arms and torsos. MacLeod appeared to be the stronger of the two as the duel continued and Jenard showed signs of tiring. It took Duncan off guard when the slighter man suddenly attacked from an angle that could have cost him his own head in any battle. Duncan side-stepped automatically to dodge the feeble strike and was thrown off balance as he stepped on a piece of packing material that snapped under his weight. Jenard's sword thrust came in under MacLeod's left arm, slicing into the muscle of his thigh and driving the Scot to one knee as the leg buckled. Duncan raised his katana in a defensive posture as he felt the wound's healing process begin.

The other Immortal stepped in to take advantage of Duncan's temporary disability and the Scot was just bracing himself for the next blow when a small whirlwind moved past him into the fray.

"Mac!" Richie shouted, rushing forward to place himself between Duncan and his opponent.

"Richie, get back!" MacLeod yelled, grabbing the back of the boy's shirt and jerking him out of the reach of Jenard's sword.

Richie struggled to free himself from Duncan's strong grip with little success, and finally compromised by standing steadfastly by the man's side as Duncan climbed to his feet once more.

"The boy's presence won't stop me, MacLeod," Jenard informed him, circling the pair.

"Leave him alone!" Richie cried, lifting a wooden slat from a pallet near his foot and brandishing it at the man in what he hoped was a threatening manner. "Come any closer and I'll knock your block off," he added, unsure whether to try to look bigger or smaller as the man laughed humorlessly.

"The boy has a certain charm, doesn't he?" His attention was centered on MacLeod alone. "I have no feud with children...when they mind their place, however..." He left the thought unfinished, closing the circle as MacLeod fought to keep Richie behind him.

Voices drifted to them from the north side of the building and grew steadily in volume. Richie's eyes swung in that direction, then back to the tableau taking place in front of him, only to find that both Duncan and the other man were standing casually, no swords in sight. He looked around for the weapons but didn't see any sign of them. His confusion was interrupted as Jenard addressed MacLeod.

"Another time, perhaps," he offered, his manner reserved.

"Perhaps," Duncan replied.

Jenard inclined his head again and moved away into the innards of the warehouse.

Duncan let out the breath he hadn't realized he was holding, his hand tightening in the material of Richie's shirt collar. Richie looked up at him then, swallowing hard at the dark expression on the Highlander's face as he found himself propelled out to the car once more. MacLeod opened the car door and waited while the boy quickly climbed inside before slamming it and covering the distance to the driver's side with an impossibly small number of steps. Once behind the wheel, he gripped it with both hands, glaring straight ahead and taking slow angry breaths before starting the car and heading for home.

MacLeod remained stone-faced during the drive and Richie sat as far away from him as the seat would allow, waiting for the inevitable explosion...which never came.

Tessa met them in the shop as they entered, setting down the figurine she was dusting to give them her full attention.

"I wasn't expecting you back so soon," she commented before noting the angry set to Duncan's jaw. "What happened?" she asked, apprehensive now.

The look Duncan gave her spoke volumes.

"Another Immortal?" she questioned in French, shifting her gaze from Duncan to the boy beside him. Richie hadn't said a word and stood shifting from one foot to another in a gesture she was all too familiar with. He was in the dog house, and he knew it. "Are you all right, Petit?"

Richie glanced sideways at Duncan who answered for him. "Richie's fine, Tessa. But right now he and I need to talk." He gave her arm a reassuring squeeze, then led Richie to his room with a hand on the boy's shoulder.

"Sit down," he ordered, pushing the boy down gently on the edge of the bed.

The Highlander paced from one end of the room to the other, then turned and came right to the point. "I want to know what you thought you were doing back there," he demanded, barely restrained anger seeping from every pore.

"Well," he prompted, when Richie remained silent.

"I don't know why you're so mad, everything turned out okay."

"You don't know why I'm so mad," Duncan repeated, controlling his temper with an effort. "Maybe it has something to do with you putting yourself in the line of fire *after*," he added, stressing the word, "I'd gotten you safely out of the way."

"I thought you might need help," Richie offered, then studied the top of his sneakers when MacLeod's face darkened even more.

"You thought you could help?" Duncan was holding onto his patience with both hands. "Empty-handed against a man with a sword," he said in disbelief. "Do you have any idea how dangerous that was?"

Richie swallowed hard. "I guess I didn't think about getting hurt," he admitted.

"Well, you should have," Duncan said severely. "You could have been killed today, don't you know that? Do you think that Jenard would have thought twice about cutting you down if you got in his way?" he continued, his voice rising. "How many times have I told you not to follow me?!"

"Twice?" Richie answered, guilelessly.

MacLeod looked away for a moment as he realized that last part was aimed at an older version of the boy sitting beside him.

"Right, twice," he repeated, feeling a little calmer now. He turned back to find Richie watching him closely.

"Once should have been enough, Richie," he explained, with more patience than he was feeling at the moment. "I live a life full of surprises-good and bad. You and Tessa are good surprises, Jenard was a bad one. You're old enough to understand that what you did today was wrong, and dangerous-for you and me."

"For you?" Richie asked, startled.

"Yes," Duncan said, choosing his words carefully. "Richie, if I have to worry about where you are and what you're doing...if I know that I can't trust you to follow directions, then I can't watch my own back like I need to. Do you understand? Your not doing what you're told could get both of us killed."

Richie looked down at the hands clasped in his lap. "I'm sorry," he murmured, in a voice that held a definite quaver. "I didn't mean to," he finished, obviously fighting back tears.

Duncan felt a momentary twinge of conscience at using his safety to get Richie to consider his own, but if it put a kink in Richie's reckless streak it would be worth it.

Duncan rested his hand on the boy's shoulder in what he hoped was a reassuring gesture. "I know you didn't mean to cause me any harm. You thought you were helping." Richie looked up at him then, with an expression that would have melted a much harder man than Duncan MacLeod.

"Richie," he continued, trying to ignore the tightening in his chest, "you knew it was dangerous to come back inside the warehouse, didn't you?"

The boy nodded slowly.

"And you heard me tell you to stay in the car." This wasn't a question.

"Yes sir," he answered miserably.

"You know I'll have to punish you?"

Richie's chin sank to his chest again. "I guess."

Duncan stood regarding him a moment, feeling completely out of his element. "I have to talk to Tessa, but I'll be back in a few minutes. Stay put. Understand?"

Richie lifted his head fractionally. "Uh-huh."

Tessa was standing just outside Richie's bedroom door, looking as uncomfortable as Duncan felt. He took her hand and led her back to their room, where they sat side by side on the large bed.

"You heard?"

"Yes."

"Whatever I do, it's got to make a big impression on him, Tessa. We can't risk him doing this again. *You* know how many times our Richie followed me, or disregarded instructions, and was hurt. At least at eighteen he had a chance of protecting himself, however small that chance was. If this younger Richie doesn't learn *right now* to follow orders he won't live to see eighteen. God, Tessa, I'd rather see him back in the system then risk that."

"So what *are* we going to do, Duncan? He's a twelve-year-old child. Children that age think that they will live forever," she reasoned, and Duncan felt sick at how close to the truth that was in Richie's case.

"I know," Duncan admitted on a sigh. "And the only real experience I've had with boys Richie's age was being one myself." He seemed to stare off into space for a moment, then his eyes widened slightly and he smiled. "That's it!" He took Tessa's hand in his. "Do you trust me to handle this?"

"Yes, of course, but..."

Duncan grasped Tessa's face, landing a quick buss on her lips. He was up and gone before she had even recovered from the kiss.

When Duncan entered Richie's room, the boy was sitting on the edge of his bed right where he'd left him. He looked up at Duncan expectantly and the Highlander felt his chest tighten at the absolute trust he saw reflected in the boy's blue eyes. He nearly broke away from his course of action, but a vivid picture of his father flashed in his mind and he resolved to be as strong for Richie as Ian MacLeod had been for him.

"Richie, I want to tell you a little story," Duncan said, walking back and forth in front of the boy.

Richie looked up at him curiously. "Is this my punishment?"

"No, this is not your punishment," Duncan retorted with an accompanying glower. "Just sit there and listen." He cleared his throat. "When I was about your age, maybe a little older," Duncan began, "there was a wolf killing our sheep..."

Richie's blue eyes grew wide. "A wolf? Wow, where did you live?"

"In Scotland."

"Scotland! Geez, that's a long way from here, huh?"

"Yes, it is, now don't change the subject." It was hard to look stern in the face of Richie's enthusiasm, but Duncan managed it somehow.

"As I was saying...there was a wolf, and I decided I would be the one to kill it. I went out on my own, even after my father told me it was too dangerous and that I was to stay home."

"What happened?" Richie interrupted, forgetting Duncan's instructions in his awe. "Did you get it?"

"No, actually, it nearly got me," he said coming to sit beside the boy. "My father was right. It *was* too dangerous. All I managed to do was spend a night in the woods and worry the people who cared about me."

Richie studied the carpet a moment before looking sideways at the Highlander. "I'll bet your dad was pretty pissed."

Duncan gave a small rueful smile. "You could say that. We had a long talk about what I did, and why it was wrong and how I wasn't ever going to do anything like it again. Then my mother fixed a huge breakfast-which I ate standing up-and all was forgiven."

"How come you ate standing up?" Richie asked guilelessly.

Duncan shifted to face him squarely. "Because after our little *talk*, sitting wasn't something I was eager to try."

As the full meaning of the words hit him, Richie squirmed uncomfortably and contemplated the carpet once more. "Oh."

"Richie," Duncan continued, waiting until the boy looked up at him again, "I'm going to let you in on a little secret. The couple who raised me weren't actually my parents...not by blood. I never knew my real parents."

"Just like me," Richie said quietly.

"Just like you," Duncan agreed, with a small smile.

"But they were good people, Richie. They raised me like their own, and I never doubted for a minute that they loved me." He took a deep breath before continuing. "My parents made rules and set boundaries-for my own safety-not because they wanted to spoil my fun. And just like with the wolf, sometimes I didn't listen. When that happened and they found out about it, I was punished. And not because they were mad," he added quickly when he saw the look Richie gave him, "they did it because they loved me and because they didn't want me to make the same mistake again. I expected it, even if I didn't like it," he confided conspiratorially.

They sat in a companionable silence a moment before Richie looked over at him again. "Okay, I get it. I didn't do what you told me and I almost got hurt-like you and the wolf...and you're gonna punish me-not because you're mad, because you don't want me to make the same mistake again. Did I miss anything?" he asked flippantly.

"Just one thing," Duncan said with a wry expression.

"What?"

"The part about us loving you," Duncan replied calmly and watched as Richie rapidly lost his cocky facade.

"You can't," he mumbled, with head down.

"Can't love you? Why not?"

Richie shrugged, uncomfortable with the subject matter. "I don't know. No one ever has, not since I was real little." He looked up at Duncan defiantly. "I'm a smart-mouthed, worthless little bastard," he stated, evenly.

The look Duncan gave him had him regretting those words as soon as they left his mouth.

"Who told you that?" MacLeod asked, in a tone of voice the boy had never heard him use before.

"One of my foster fathers," he replied hesitantly, afraid that the Highlander's anger was directed at him.

Duncan jumped to his feet and started pacing to work off some of the hostility he was feeling for a man he'd never met, and never would, if the guy was lucky. He caught a glimpse of Richie's worried face and took a calming breath before coming back to sit beside him once more.

"He was wrong, Richie," he told the boy, his brogue thickening with his emotions. "You're no to believe it, not e'er, do ya ken?" he ordered, grasping the boy's upper arms.

Richie nodded emphatically, his eyes huge in the face of MacLeod's wrath.

Duncan pulled him into a tight embrace and closed his eyes against visions of the years of unhappiness that the boy had endured so far, praying for guidance to help make things right for his future.

He finally drew back to gaze at the boy who regarded him with an expression of something close to wonder.

Richie looked down at his lap, then back up at MacLeod before saying in a clear voice, "I guess, maybe, we'd better get it over with, huh?"

Duncan nodded solemnly, feeling an almost overwhelming pride in the boy sitting beside him. "Maybe we'd better."

"Okay," Richie came back timidly. "But I'm not gonna like it," he added with a mutinous expression that made Duncan's mouth twitch.

"I'll give you that one," he said around a small smile.

Duncan tried to picture how his father had handled this, and couldn't. He'd always been on the receiving end and for the most part expending all his energies trying to talk his way out of it.

He finally decided to do what came naturally and simply pulled the boy over his thighs and smacked the seat of his jeans firmly. Richie grunted quietly, but didn't struggle and his calm acceptance of the situation almost destroyed Duncan's determination to see it through. Instead he took a deep breath and started landing a steady rain of swats that had Richie owing and ohing in cadence. Once the boy started verbalizing with "I'll be good...I won't do it again...honest, I'll never do it again...I'll never get in trouble, never ever again," Duncan gratefully stopped and pulled the boy to his feet where he stood rubbing his bottom with both hands and blinking back tears.

"I don't ever want to have to do that again, Richie," MacLeod said, when he had the boy's undivided attention once more.

"That makes two of us," Richie said with one last sniffle, before coming back with a hesitant smile that reminded Duncan so much of an older Richie trying to put on a brave face that it nearly startled him out of his train of thought.

"So the next time I tell you to do something, you'll do it, right?"

"Right," the boy quickly agreed.

Duncan had a sudden overwhelming sense of deja vu and climbed to his feet trying to shake off the mental image of a dozen similar conversations with a certain red-headed teenager.

"Mac?"

"Yeah?"

"You're not gonna send me back?" he asked hesitantly.

"No, Richie, we're not going to send you back."

"No matter what I do?"

Duncan cupped the boy's face in his hand and looked into his eyes. "No matter what you do," he said firmly.

Richie smiled up at him and then as an afterthought, "Of course, I'm never gonna do anything like that again."

"Never, ever," Duncan added, trying not to grin.

"Right," Richie affirmed and gave MacLeod an angelic look of innocence.

Duncan laughed out loud. If there was one thing Richie wasn't-at eighteen *or* twelve-it was angelic.

"You're a piece of work, Richie Ryan."

"I am?"

"You are."

Richie's face scrunched up. "That's bad, huh?"

Duncan brushed a stray curl out of the boy's face. "That's good," he said, grinning.

Richie studied him a moment, then broke into a huge smile.

Duncan smiled back, then cleared his throat and did his best to sound stern. "I think you'd better stay in your room until dinner's ready. All right?"

"Yes, sir."

Mac nodded, then ruffled the boy's hair before leaving to find his better half and reassure her that Richie was fine.

Richie sat down to dinner that night with the aid of a pillow-more for dramatic effect than from any actual need-and entertained Tessa with imaginative descriptions of Duncan's brief battle with Jenard, painting the Scot as the uncontested winner. He wisely left out his participation in the proceedings.

"I don't remember you ever mentioning an Immortal named David Jenard," Tessa remarked later that evening as she and Duncan prepared for bed.

"That's because I never met him. When we came back here to change Richie's life, we changed our own, as well."

"That frightens me, Duncan," she said, halting in the process of brushing out her hair.

"It frightens me, too, Tessa," he admitted. "From here on out, anything goes. We're committed to this time-line now. All we can do is try and make the right decisions," he said and laughed harshly. "Which puts us in the same boat with everyone else. I never asked you if you were sorry you made that wish," he said, coming up behind her and resting his hands on her shoulders.

"No. No, I'm not sorry," she said fervently, looking at their reflection in the mirror. "Richie is with us now, and we won't ever belittle him, or starve him, or lock him away if he doesn't do to suit us. Besides," she added, smiling up at him, "I get to live these years over with you. Nothing could make me happier."

"You're a huge boost to my ego, you know," he commented.

"I doubt very seriously that your ego needs boosting, Duncan MacLeod."

"Touche, madam. A blow well struck," he quipped, bowing formally. "You may consider my ego considerably deflated."

"Is there any other part of you that requires deflating?" she asked innocently, batting her eyelashes.

"Well, now that you mention it," he replied, grinning roguishly.

"Oh, the sacrifices I make," Tessa sighed, as he took her hand and pulled her to her feet.

**********

With Halloween less than a week away, Duncan and Richie set out to find the perfect pumpkin to carve, along with enough squash and assorted gourds to fill a cornucopia for Tessa to set on the kitchen table. It took trips to several different produce stands for them to find items that met their rigid standards of excellence. The winning pumpkin weighed nearly forty pounds and took up most of the trunk all by itself-relegating the rest of the purchases to the back seat.

Richie was jabbering excitedly as they pulled into the alley behind the workshop, describing just how the gruesomely carved rictus should look and trying to demonstrate by contorting his own facial features. Duncan smiled at his enthusiasm, but told him to keep his mind on the business at hand as they hefted the pumpkin together and maneuvered sideways through the door.

As soon as they were inside, a dark form stepped between them and the door, blocking much of the outside light. Richie lost his grip on the pumpkin as he heard the unmistakable sound of a gun magazine clicking into place. He looked down at the splattered remains of the biggest pumpkin he'd ever seen before his attention turned to the intruder.

"Well, company," the man said in a conversational tone. "And we so seldom get visitors. Inside," he ordered, gesturing with his gun hand toward the kitchen doorway.

"Of course," Duncan capitulated. "We don't want any trouble."

An amused bark of laughter followed. "Yeah, well, that's too bad, isn't it, cuz trouble's just what you've got."

Duncan moved Richie around in front of him as they walked then shot his elbow back into the larger man's midsection, turning and seizing the startled man's gun arm, pulling it up and quickly down again across his bent leg-nearly snapping the bone. The gun dropped from suddenly numb fingers and Duncan kicked it out of range. He brought the intruder to his knees with a well-placed kick and pulled his head back by the hair, using his forearm as leverage against the man's neck. He tried to yell out but the Highlander merely applied more pressure to his throat as a warning and he subsided, taking wrenching breaths.

"How many inside?" Duncan questioned, eyes cold.

"Two," was the gasped reply.

"Armed?"

"Ye...yeah."

The Scot's face hardened. "Thanks for the information." He brought his knee up into the man's forehead, snapping his head back and neatly knocking him out. MacLeod eased him to the ground before dragging him carefully into the darkened corner.

"Did you kill him?"

Duncan looked up into Richie's owl-eyed face. "No, but he'll be out for a while." He removed the man's belt and secured his hands to a metal wall pipe as a precaution before rising.

Harsh voices drifted back to them from the inner building, along with Tessa's strangled cry. Duncan's first impulse was to race to her aid, but leaving Richie unprotected was out of the question.

He weighed the risk of trying to take the boy back outside, but there was too much open space between them and that door now, too much of an opportunity for a stray bullet to find the boy-a risk Duncan wasn't willing to take.

He quickly retrieved the gun and led Richie to the near wall, placing the boy up against it with Tessa's metalworks project to the forefront, then pulled him down to a crouching position, satisfied that he was hidden from view.

"Richie, stay right here. Don't move, and don't make a sound. I'm going to get Tessa. Understand?"

Richie nodded quickly, keenly aware of the Scot's assessing stare. Duncan rested his hand briefly on the boy's head before moving off silently.

Richie watched anxiously as Duncan disappeared through the kitchen entrance, pressed himself back against the wall, biting his lip and waiting for the Scot to reappear and tell him that everything was all right.

Time seemed to stop for him, kneeling in the shadows cast by Tessa's welding equipment, and he suddenly felt as if he were all alone in the building. The feeling only increased as the minutes passed and the inactivity became too much for him to handle. He cast one more glance at the kitchen before moving off toward the office.

Richie inched his way to the door and slipped across the darkened room to the other side, peering cautiously through that doorway into the shop. He scanned the area searching for signs of either Duncan or Tessa and jumped when a harsh voice rang out a few feet from where he stood.

"Get over there!"

Two men came into view, one with his meaty fist wrapped around Tessa's upper arm, pulling her awkwardly along beside him. The other-greasy hair down to his shoulders-skulked along in their wake.

"That case, open that one!" the first man shouted unnecessarily, gesturing toward a display of gold Mayan jewelry.

Tessa dropped the keys in her nervousness, scrambling to retrieve them from the floor with hands that shook visibly.

The slightly built man laughed uncharitably, feeding on her almost tangible fear. "Why don't we just break it? We don't need her."

"Shut up! I'm running this show. You never seem to remember that, do you?"

A face-off followed, as the two men stood glaring at one another, temporarily forgetting their situation as their animosity threatened to overflow. The sound of a door slamming somewhere in the apartment had them swinging around in that direction, the argument forgotten.

"Who else is here?" the burly fellow demanded, yanking Tessa against him and pressing the muzzle of the gun to her neck.

"No one else," she cried. "You've already searched. Why don't you just go?"

He growled deep in his throat and shoved her back toward his accomplice. "I'll check it out. You stay with her."

Richie was torn between warning Mac and staying with Tessa. He chose the latter, figuring that Duncan only made noise when he wanted to, and because he was loathe to leave Tessa unprotected.

The man with Tessa watched his companion depart, then turned his attention to the blonde woman. His body exuded a foul odor and Tessa tried to step away but his hand tightened painfully on her wrist.

"You're a real looker, ain't ya?" he sneered, his eyes roaming over her. "Maybe we'll just take you, too."

His hand reached for her left breast and she reacted automatically, hiking her knee-aiming for his crotch. He turned aside at the last moment and her knee slammed harmlessly into his thigh.

His retaliation was just as swift.

He back-handed Tessa sharply, causing her to fall back against the display case and drop to the carpeted floor as she lost her footing. She lay there trying to clear her ringing head as he ranted down at her.

"Stupid bitch," he spat out, hunching his shoulders and running a filthy hand under his nose. "Teach you to mess with me."

Richie's eyes fastened on Tessa's still form, and stayed there. His breathing became harsh and his body shook in small tremors as he vividly pictured a dark-haired woman lying unmoving on a scuffed linoleum floor and heard the ghostly echo of childish laughter. A single tear escaped to run unnoticed down his cheek, and he moved trance-like to the umbrella stand, blindly grasping a solid mahogany walking stick and pulling it clear. Moving silently across the floor, he raised the cane over his head in a two-handed grip and brought it down with all his strength against the back of the assailant's head just as the man reared back his leg to kick the downed Tessa.

The wood split down the center on impact, the silver tip landing on the floor beside the unconscious thief.

Duncan raced around the corner and took in the scene at a glance. He ran to Tessa and pulled her gently to a sitting position, brushing the hair away from her face and checking for injuries.

"I'm all right," she assured him distractedly, her eyes on Richie. "There's another man, Duncan."

"I took care of him."

Duncan helped her stand, then turned his attention to the boy as well.

Richie dropped the walking stick and backed away from them until he was up against the wall. His mouth opened and closed as he stared back at the couple-his eyes huge in a colorless face.

"I'm sorry, I'm sorry. I know you told me not to move, but I ha...had to," he wailed, voice breaking as tears streamed down his face. "He was gon...gonna hurt Tes...Tes...Tessa," he hiccuped between sobs. "I'm sor...sorryyy."

Duncan stood in stunned silence. He'd never seen Richie cry before-not at eighteen, as they buried his childhood friend; not at eleven, when the doctor stitched up his leg.

He reacted without thinking and scooped Richie up in his arms, holding him tightly as the dam burst. The boy wrapped his arms around the Highlander's neck in a grip that threatened to cut off the Scot's air, though he didn't complain, and went on repeating 'I'm sorry' over and over.

He was sobbing convulsively, barely coherent, and Tessa stood by helplessly, trying to soothe him with words she doubted he heard in the state he was in. Duncan carried him to the stairs and sat down, holding the boy in his lap and rubbing his back in an attempt to calm him down. Seeing the distressed look on Tessa's face and knowing his own must mirror it, he reached out a hand to her, which she grasped gratefully.

Richie's sobs gradually subsided to loud sniffles, and Duncan pulled him back to arms' length, handing the boy his handkerchief and waiting patiently for him to wipe his eyes, still welling with tears, and blow his nose.

"She was lying there, and she didn't move," he said in a near monotone, staring down at the carpet where Tessa had lain. "She didn't move, and they took her away."

Tessa's hand came up to her mouth and she and Duncan looked at each other helplessly with the sickening realization that Richie was reliving Emily Ryan's death.

"Tessa's fine, Toughguy," Duncan said, keeping his tone level. "See," he cupped Richie's chin and turned him so that the Frenchwoman was directly in his field of vision.

Tessa smiled reassuringly at Richie, smoothing his hair back from his face and running a finger gently down his tear-streaked cheek as he blinked up at her.

"She's just fine," Duncan repeated, needing to hear the words himself. "You did exactly the right thing."

"I...I did?" Richie tore his eyes away from Tessa with an effort. "But, you told me not to move," he argued between sniffles.

"I know," Duncan admitted with a wry smile. "Sometimes even I'm wrong." He pulled both Richie and Tessa into a rib-cracking hug, looking at the still unconscious burglar over their shoulders and saying a silent prayer of thanks.

The police arrived within minutes of Tessa's belated phone call and bundled the confused would-be thieves into one of the waiting cars. The couple related all they could of the attempted robbery, glossing over Duncan's part in bringing it to an end and watching anxiously as Richie was questioned. The police kept their questions to a minimum and made a point of praising the boy's quick thinking and cool head. Richie preened noticeably under all the positive attention, once he got past his natural distrust of the officers, and seemed more himself by the time they wrapped things up. Duncan promised to come to the station later and give a written statement, and gratefully closed the door behind them, locking it in reflex.

"You're really all right?" Richie asked, sidling up to Tessa and studying her face intently.

Tessa draped an arm over his shoulders. "Yes, I'm really all right. A little headache, perhaps, but that will pass."

"You should be in bed," Richie informed her earnestly. "You look kind of shaky."

"No, I'm..."

"Richie's right, Tessa," Duncan interrupted, catching her eye over the boy's head. "We don't want to take any chances with you. Bed," he ordered, guiding her steps, with Richie on the other side as if she were an invalid incapable of maneuvering a few steps on her own.

As soon as they arrived at the master bedroom, Duncan sent Richie off to grab an extra blanket, wanting a moment alone with her.

"Duncan, I don't need all of this," Tessa said, as soon as the boy was out of earshot.

"I know, but Richie does. Let him wait on you for a while, Tessa. What could it hurt?"

Tessa smiled at his unexpected sensitivity and kissed his cheek as Richie barreled back into the room.

"Is this big enough?" the boy asked, struggling with a king-sized blanket.

"I think that's just about right," Duncan chuckled.

"Good." Richie dumped the blanket on the cedar chest and faced Tessa. "Okay...teeth, pajamas, bed, prayers," he said by rote, ticking each item off on his fingers. "You can skip teeth, since you're not going to bed for good," he allowed magnanimously. "Pajamas," he said, holding up the next finger.

Duncan dutifully stepped over to the dresser and pulled out one of Tessa's least revealing nightgowns, the one she wore whenever she had the flu, or a cold. "Pajamas," he announced, enjoying himself immensely.

"I'll wait outside while you get changed," Richie told her, adopting an impish expression. "Then you get right into bed. And don't forget to say your prayers," he reminded, impudently.

"It isn't bedtime," she pointed out, wanting to smack Duncan for getting her into this. "If I don't have to brush my teeth, I shouldn't have to say my prayers."

"That's up to you," Richie said loftily, strolling past her. "If you have nothing to be thankful for..."

Tessa laughed in spite of herself, snatching Richie to her and wrapping her arms around him from behind, rocking him from side to side and landing a kiss in the center of his untamed curls. "I have a great deal to be thankful for," she whispered into his ear, before releasing him and placing another kiss on his cheek for good measure.

Richie made a great show of convincing everyone that he found that entire display thoroughly distasteful, rubbing his cheek and throwing Tessa a remonstrative look. The light in his eyes gave him away.

Tessa allowed Richie to pamper her until Duncan announced that dinner was ready a few hours later, then insisted on dressing once more and heading to the kitchen under her own steam. Richie cast her several measuring looks during the meal, and she made a point of smiling at every opportunity to help assuage his lingering fear for her well-being.

Once the dinner dishes were washed, Duncan left for the police station, Richie was sent to take his bath and watch television, and Tessa settled in the office with some unprocessed paperwork. Her only concession to her fading unease over the day's events was to leave every light burning in the store.

She had gone through nearly a month's worth of invoices when it struck her that it was much too quiet. The television could generally be heard from the office, and she was suddenly suspicious of Richie's activities.

She was about to call out to him when she heard a muffled squeak and caught a flash as the overhead lights in the store reflected off of a metallic surface. Her heart skipped a beat and she rose slowly, warily making her way to the doorway, careful not to make a sound. She peered into the shop, much as Richie had done earlier in the day, to find the boy-dressed in his pajamas-pacing from one end of the platformed area to the other with the lightweight Swept Hilt rapier propped against his right shoulder.

"Richie, what in the world!" she exclaimed, relief flooding her. "What are you doing with that?"

"I'm standing guard," the boy told her, puffing up to stand at his full four feet, nine inches.

"Not with that you're not," she informed him curtly. "You know the rule about swords. Go put that back where you found it before you cut yourself. And put the keys back as well."

"But, Tessa," he whined, "how can I protect you without a gun or a sword or something?"

"You don't need to protect me," she replied, tiredly, and when Richie showed no signs of moving, but just stood frowning up at her, "Now, Richie," she ordered, pointing toward the empty display case.

"Aw, shit," Richie mumbled under his breath as he turned toward the case, dragging his feet.

"What was that?"

He turned back slowly to face a very unhappy Tessa, who stood with hands on hips contemplating her young charge with a fierce frown.

"Um, I said...shoot, yeah, that's it...shoot," he replied, smiling innocently up at her.

"I hope that's what you said," she told him, although it was obvious from her expression that she didn't believe it for a minute. "Because I would hate to have to interrupt your protection services in order to wash out your mouth."

His smile slipped considerably at that. "Yes, ma'am," he returned. "I'll just put this back now," he offered nervously, and made tracks in the other direction.

Tessa bit her lip to keep from laughing at the look on the boy's face before returning to her accounts.

Sword, or no sword, Richie continued to march back and forth in front of the office doorway while she worked away. Tessa found it distracting at first, but as the minutes passed she started to draw comfort from his unflagging concern for her safety.

She realized suddenly how much she had been missing the older Richie. His unique strut, his gentle teasing, his incessant good humor...but most of all, his companionship. He was always there when she needed to vent her frustrations-with Duncan, with Immortals, or the world in general, and was a shoulder to cry on whenever her fears overwhelmed her. She realized with a start that even her photos of him were gone, along with all other tangible evidence of that future. That only she and Duncan had a clear mental picture of the teenager, and she wasn't sure how long that would last.

She jumped when a small hand touched hers, and looked up to find Richie standing beside the desk studying her intently.

"What's the matter? Does your head hurt again?" he asked solicitously.

"No, Sweet. I'm fine," she assured him, cupping his cheek lovingly.

"How come you're crying?"

Tessa raised a hand to her face, surprised to feel the dampness. "I was just thinking of someone I haven't seen in a while."

"Who?" Richie was nothing if not persistent.

"A boy," she answered, somewhat vaguely, "older than you. He used to live here with us."

He cocked his head to the side. "This other kid, you miss him, don't ya?"

"Yes, very much."

"Why don't you go see him?" Richie asked reasonably.

Tessa smiled, faintly. "I'm afraid that's not possible."

"He's pretty far away, huh?"

Tessa gave that some thought before answering. "No," she said finally. "No, he's right here." She placed a hand above her left breast.

"Huh?"

She looked over at the boy beside her, lifting a red curl off his forehead. "He's in my heart."

"Oh. Okay, that's cool," Richie replied with a very sober expression. "I'll bet he wasn't as much trouble as me."

Tessa smiled easily at that. "Oh, I don't know. I think he might have given you a run for your money."

"A real handful, huh?" he said with a cheeky grin.

"Too adventuresome for his own good," she corrected. "Just like a certain little boy I know," she added, tickling his sides while he danced from foot to foot, laughing and trying to evade her fingers.

"I'm not so little, you know," he pointed out after they'd both composed themselves.

"No, of course not," she assured him.

"Really. I can help...if you're worried, or anything. You can talk to me, you know."

"I always could," she said, softly.

"What?"

"Nothing." She closed the ledger and grasped the hand he was resting upon the desk. "I think that's enough business for one day. I believe there is a horror movie marathon on tonight. What do you say we make some popcorn and settle in for the night?"

Richie broke out in a wide grin. "Yeah, cool."

"Bon." Tessa pushed the chair back and rose, keeping his hand tightly clasped in hers and together they headed for the kitchen.

"And maybe some ice cream, too. With lots of Hershey's syrup on top. And sprinkles, do we have any sprinkles?" he added, enthusiastically.

Tessa smiled. No, he wasn't very far away at all.

The store was quiet when Duncan returned, the unmistakable smell of popcorn lingering in the air. He turned off the remaining lights and climbed the stairs, going directly to the master bedroom and changing into his pajama bottoms before heading for Richie's room. As he'd guessed, Tessa and Richie were both propped up by pillows on the bed with a bowl holding a few unpopped kernels of popcorn on the floor beside it. The television was droning on about Vampires and other demons of the night, and he smiled when he noticed that-the subject matter notwithstanding-Richie was sound asleep, his head nestled against Tessa's shoulder.

She grinned up at him, raising a finger to her lips for silence.

Duncan helped her slide out without disturbing Richie, then carefully readjusted the boy, pulling the covers up under his chin and laying a gentle hand on the head of curls.

They tiptoed out after switching off the television and light, leaving the door ajar.

Tessa retied her lace peignoir and sat down on the couch, stretching and smothering a yawn as Duncan settled down beside her, pulling her back to lean against him with his arms wrapped comfortingly around her.

"Tired?"

"Yes, but it's a good tired."

They sat quietly, content in each other's company, and Tessa waited for him to tell her what was on his mind. He was brooding, she could tell by the continual tightening of his chest and arms, but prodding him wouldn't do any good. That much, at least, she had learned from their years together.

"Tessa, do you think we're wrong to bring Richie into a life that's filled with dangers, like today's confrontation?" he asked abruptly.

This was not what she had been expecting.

"What happened today had nothing to do with what you are, Duncan. It could have been any other store, at any time. You can't blame yourself."

"We could find a decent family to take him in if we tried, right here in Seacouver," he persisted.

"How can you even suggest such a thing? He's ours, Duncan. Richie is *ours*. I won't send him away, I can't," she cried passionately. "He's happy here, I know he is. If we sent him away he'd take it as another rejection. How many of those can one little boy take before it scars him permanently?" Tears were running down her cheeks and she swiped at them impatiently. "Maybe you can brush him aside, Duncan MacLeod, but I can't."

"Tessa," he breathed, pulling her almost roughly into an embrace as she pushed ineffectually against him. "I don't want to send him away. You know I don't want that. I just don't want him to be hurt because of me."

Tessa pulled back in his arms and locked her eyes with his. "Then we won't let it happen. We'll keep him safe...you and I. That's what parents do, isn't it? They battle the world to keep their children safe."

Her voice was so strong, so certain, that Duncan's doubts eased. "That's what they do," he agreed, holding her close. They settled back into that comforting silence. "Marry me, Tessa."

"What?!" Tessa shot forward on the couch and turned to regard him in shock.

"Marry me," he repeated, his voice strong and steady. "Not because of this, not because of Richie. Marry me, because I love you, Tessa Noel, more than life." He took both her hands in his. "I know this seems sudden, I know you..."

"Yes."

"Yes?"

"Yes," she echoed, laughing. "I'll marry you. Not because of this... not because of Richie," she repeated. "Because I love you, Duncan MacLeod, more than life."

"Tessa," Duncan said on a sigh. He cupped her face and kissed her deeply as he felt tears welling in his eyes. "My Tessa," he whispered into her hair.

Tessa laughed again and brushed at her eyes with one hand, the other still linked in his. "We'll make it a small wedding," she said, already planning the guest list. "Oh, but everyone thinks we are already married," she reminded him.

"So we're renewing our vows," Duncan returned, apparently unconcerned with that little stumbling block. "People do it all the time."

Tessa smiled in relief and leaned back against his side as he wrapped his arms around her. "We should go out of town, for appearance sake. I would like my father to be here, and my sister and her family if possible. It's too bad we can't take Richie out of the country, we could marry in France."

"Maybe the next time we renew our vows," Duncan suggested.

"Yes, next time," she agreed. "Let's see...you'll want Fitzcairn to be there, and Connor-if you can track him down. And I suppose you'll want Amanda there as well," she muttered sourly.

"Not if it will make you uncomfortable."

"Well, I suppose I could tolerate her for one day. But that's all," she added, sitting up to face him.

"Yes, ma'am."

She snuggled back against him. "My niece can be the flower girl and Richie can be the ring-bearer. Oh, won't he look adorable in a tuxedo," she exclaimed.

"I wouldn't use the word 'adorable' around him, if I were you," Duncan advised.

"Mmm, yes, well...I'll have to start working on this tomorrow. It will take time to contact everyone. We'll need invitations...no more than a hundred."

"What happened to small?"

"Oh, and a gown, I have to have a gown."

Duncan merely shook his head and pulled her more tightly against him, closing his eyes and smiling tolerantly as she rambled on about flowers, caterers, halls, musicians........

Tessa sighed and snuggled closer to Duncan's warmth, opening her eyes slowly when the hand reaching for the covers came up empty. She shifted slightly to rest a hand on the Scot's chest.

"Duncan..."

"What? What's wrong?" he demanded, coming fully awake instantly.

"We dropped off," she explained sleepily, climbing to her feet and smoothing the hair away from her face. "I'll just look in on him," she said, going to Richie's open door. "I thought we closed this."

"We did," Duncan agreed, realizing belatedly that he couldn't sense the boy. He stepped in front of her and into the room, switching on the light. "Oh, Lord, not again."

"What?" Tessa asked from behind him.

He stepped aside to let her enter.

The bed was empty, but also neatly made-although there were a number of articles of clothing strewn across its surface-and on the floor, for that matter. Tessa picked up a pair of jeans-torn jeans, sized for a slimly built older teenager or young man. One of the legs was pulled inside out as if the wearer had tried to remove the jeans without pulling off their shoes first. Richie did that, she thought fondly.

There was a framed poster of a Vespa motorbike over the bed and a junior dirt-bike championship racing trophy on the dresser.

Tessa looked about the room in a daze. This was not the same bedroom she'd been in a short time ago-not the room of a twelve-year-old boy. This was the room of a teenager. A teenager who loved motorcycles and never picked up his clothes.

A pair of tickets were stuck in the frame of the mirror. Duncan pulled them out and read them aloud. "'Seacouver Park, U2 in concert, August 25, 1993.' We're back. Just like that and we're back," he said woodenly.

"But it's not right," Tessa insisted, wandering around the room. "I don't remember this comforter, and that poster...Richie had pictures of motorcycles all over, but none of them were framed. What's happened?" she asked in a small voice.

Duncan draped an arm around her shoulders and led her from the room, stopping to turn off the light. "Maybe there's something in our room or the office that will help explain it."

Tessa halted in mid-step and made a strangled sound. Watching her eyes widen and the color drain from her cheeks, Duncan spun around, drawing his katana instinctively.

His expression nearly mirrored hers as his gaze swept over the photographs on the wall facing them.

The first group were obviously wedding pictures. Tessa stood alone in the first in a gown of cream silk and lace, holding a bouquet of Whiskey Mac roses, her personal favorite because of the name and the almost bronze color. Another photograph pictured Tessa and Duncan together standing next to a table laden with gifts, and a third of the couple holding up Champagne glasses, Richie standing between them smiling brightly. It was the last picture in the group that made them smile-Duncan pulling a bottle of Champagne out of Richie's hands while Tessa shook a finger in the boy's face. Richie wore an expression of complete innocence as he gazed up at them.

"I told you he would look adorable," Tessa reminded the Scot, in a wistful tone.

Duncan took her right hand and turned it over to display the diamond ring on her third finger. "So you did, Mrs. MacLeod."

"It happened," she said, her shaking fingers pressed against her lips. "It really happened."

"It really happened," Duncan repeated, grinning as the words penetrated his brain. "Richie," he mumbled, turning toward the shop.

"Duncan, wait!"

"What? What is it?" he asked, spinning back around.

Tessa was standing in front of an 11 x 14 picture that held a place of honor on a wall by itself. Richie stood holding a large sign that read 'It's a Boy'. Duncan stood behind his left shoulder with a silly-looking cigar in his mouth and Tessa stood to the boy's right smiling at them. Both adults rested a hand on each of Richie's shoulders in a proprietary manner. The placket read 'May 12, 1987.'

Another photo resting on the credenza below it pictured Richie sitting behind a chocolate cake with fourteen candles covering the surface. Duncan and Tessa leaning over his shoulders, smiling. A banner hung from the wall 'Happy Birthday Richie!' it said. They all looked ridiculously happy.

Duncan wrapped his arms around Tessa from behind. "It looks like we got it right this time," he breathed into her ear, feeling very much at peace with the world.

"Yes," she sighed.

The Highlander suddenly tensed and raised his katana, turning just as Richie sauntered into view.

The eighteen-year-old raised an eyebrow in perfect imitation of Duncan when he entered the living room to find the Scot standing in his pajama bottoms, sword in hand, next to Tessa in her lace peignoir.

"You guys playing Lady Angelica and the Conqueror again?" Richie inquired with a definite smirk.

"What?!" Tessa and Duncan wore identical expressions of shock.

"Oh, come on. It's not the first time I've walked in on something like this."

Duncan's surprise rapidly changed to displeasure. "Richie..."

The teen threw his hands up. "I know...'Richie, go to your room,'" he mimicked. "That's cool, I want to play the new CD I got anyway. Alice In Chains," he informed them holding up the item in question.

"Wait a minute, Richie," Duncan said, stepping toward him. Events were moving much too rapidly for the bewildered Scot.

Richie turned back to them, looking chagrined now. "Okay, I'm busted," he said unhappily, adding to the couple's confusion. "I know, it's past my curfew," he admitted. "So what is it this time? Solitary confinement? The Rack? Mom's spinach souffle?" he asked flippantly, sounding exactly like the Richie they knew so well that it was difficult to hold onto the fact that he wasn't quite the same-he couldn't be.

"I think we'll overlook it this time," Duncan told him, staring at the boy so intensely that Richie squirmed under the close appraisal.

"You're kidding, right?" he asked in astonishment, looking from one adult to the other. He walked up to Duncan and placed a hand on his forehead. "You feel okay, Dad? Immortals can't get sick, right?" He smiled suddenly, a familiar smile, and nodded. "Oh, I get it, I'm gonna wake up in the morning and find bars on my windows."

Duncan was still trying to recover from being called 'dad'. "Richie, I can't possibly be that bad," he said, feeling inexplicably defensive.

Richie made a funny little sound in his throat at that and rolled his eyes at Tessa. "Not that bad," he muttered in disbelief. "Remember the night before my sixteenth birthday?"

They didn't, but he didn't know that.

"You know, when I 'borrowed' mom's car and went for a little joyride with some friends," he elaborated, when they continued to stare at him with twin blank expressions. "I still say the other car cut me off. And the dent in the Mercedes was really small. If the cops hadn't taken us in, you guys probably wouldn't have even noticed," Richie continued, frowning at the memory. "I tried to talk them into taking me home, but no, they had to call you guys at that fund-raiser at Chez Charles and have you come and get me," he said, then looked directly at Tessa.

"When we got home from the station, you were still weepy and he hadn't uttered a word. Man, I knew my ass was grass and Dad was gonna be the lawnmower," Richie said with a rueful grin.

"Yeah, and like not being able to sit down wasn't enough," he complained, shifting his gaze to the Scot, "you grounded me for a month and wouldn't let me get my learner's permit until the damage was paid off," Richie said, shaking his head at the memory. "Pretty harsh, Pop," he continued, giving Duncan an impish grin.

"Pop?" Duncan sputtered. "I'll pop you," he threw back, smiling despite himself at the look on the boy's face.

Richie laughed easily as his father clipped him lightly on the back of the head. "Okay, okay, I'm not gonna push my luck. I'll catch you guys at breakfast. This puppy's just begging to be played," he said, holding the prized CD between thumb and forefinger and waving it around playfully before turning toward his room.

"Richie..." Tessa called, a slight catch in her voice. She had been quiet throughout his reminiscing, satisfied to watch his every expression, but suddenly that wasn't enough.

"Yeah?" the boy asked, turning to regard the pair.

She smiled hesitantly then, "Don't I get a kiss good night?"

Richie gave a long-suffering sigh, familiar to the mothers of all teen-aged boys, before closing the space between them and giving her a warm kiss on the cheek.

Tessa smoothed his hair back from his forehead and kissed him back, then burst into tears and pulled him into a fierce embrace.

"Mom, what's wrong?" he asked tentatively, his voice worried.

Tessa smiled at Duncan over the boy's shoulder, before sniffling and releasing him. "Nothing's wrong. Can't a mother hug her son if she wants to?" she asked reasonably.

Richie gave her a dubious look. "Yeah, I guess so." He stood regarding the couple a moment. "You guys are acting seriously weird tonight," he informed them, his head cocked to the side. "Did I do something?" he asked warily.

Duncan cocked up an eyebrow at him. "I don't know, did you?" he asked cryptically.

The older man received a frown in return. "No way, I'm not falling for that one. Besides, these tunes won't wait."

Before Richie had time to move away, Duncan reached out, pulled him into a bear-hug, and gave him a noisy kiss on the top of the head.

"What was that for?"

Mac was smiling broadly at his own spontaneity and the startled look on the kid's face and shrugged before answering. "I missed you."

Richie gave him a sheepish grin before shaking his head and mumbling, "Weird, seriously weird." He turned away and disappeared into his room.

"He looks wonderful," Tessa sniffed. "I think he's a little broader through the chest and shoulders."

"Well, he's been doing katas with his 'dad' for seven years," Duncan said with a definite touch of pride. "Tessa...why are you crying?"

"We missed all those years with him. It's not fair, Duncan. I wanted to raise him."

"We did raise him, Tessa. That's what this was all about. We did it for him, not for us."

"I know," she sniffled. "I'm being selfish."

"It's not selfish to want to love someone," he said, taking her hand and leading her into their room. "And he's still here for you to love. We both are, if you're up to the challenge."

She laughed, brushing away her tears. "I wouldn't miss a moment," she murmured, melting in to his waiting arms.

Alice In Chains abruptly blared throughout the apartment, the strident chords making the couple wince in counterpoint.

"I'm going to have to have a talk with him," Duncan vowed, scowling at the wall. "I don't know why I let you talk me into getting him that stereo when he was fifteen. He's done nothing but make our lives miserable with it ever since."

"Oh, and I suppose the crossbow you wanted to get him would have been more appropriate," she threw back, stepping out of the embrace and turning toward the bed.

"Well at least learning to use it would have taught him something."

"Yes, how to send someone to the emergency room," she replied sarcastically. "Don't you think we spent enough time there without handing him a weapon?"

Duncan shook his head. This was one argument he never did win. That thought hit him like an epiphany and he spun around searching Tessa out in the room.

"Tessa...we're arguing over a gift we gave Richie for his birthday almost four years ago."

"It's not the first time," she commented idly, smoothing back the bedcovers.

"Tessa...*four years ago*," he repeated, enunciating each word carefully.

Tessa froze with her hand halfway to the pillow. The hand came up to her throat as her breath caught. "We remember," she murmured as the full meaning of his words hit her. She spun around to face him. "How can we remember that?"

"I don't..." His voice trailed off and his brow furrowed in concentration.

Tessa's thoughtful expression changed rapidly to one of near amazement.

"He's allergic to radishes, did we know that before? I don't think we knew that before," she babbled, answering her own question.

"He fell off his skateboard and broke his arm when he was thirteen." Duncan's mouth twitched in spite of the seriousness of the memory.

"Yes," Tessa agreed, eyes wide, "and the doctor put a fluorescent green cast on it. That drove me crazy, it didn't go with any of his clothes."

"He can't take Erythromycin," Duncan added. "He had a bad reaction to it and was in the hospital for..."

"...three days," they finished together.

"My God, Duncan," she cried, grabbing his hands and using them as an anchor. "We remember." Tears sprang to her eyes. "He's ours, and we remember."

They laughed together, wrapping their arms around each and holding on for dear life.

"Tessa, let's go to Scotland."

"What!" One more shock and Tessa thought she might expire on the spot.

"I'm serious. Let's take Richie and go to Scotland, just the three of us."

"Duncan, if memory serves, we only got home from France last week. We haven't even taken everything out of storage and reopened the store."

"Exactly. Look, Tessa," he said, taking her hand in both of his, "Richie isn't eager to start college-don't ask, I just know," he said disjointedly. "And he won't learn anything if he's forced to go. We're a family, Tessa. A *real* family. I kept promising to take you and Richie some day, but there never seemed to be time with his school and the store. In a few years he'll think he's too old to go on vacation with his parents and we'll lose our chance." He was almost rambling now, but he couldn't stop. "I want Richie...I want our son to see where I grew up. I don't know why, but it's suddenly very important to me that we go-that we leave Seacouver."

"All right."

"Are you sure?" he asked, looking into her eyes.

"Yes. Let's take our son and go to Scotland."

Duncan pulled her back into his arms and closed his eyes as Darius' face flashed before him. There was something of great importance he was forgetting-for the moment at least. He would have to get in touch with Darius if it didn't come back to him soon. His old friend would undoubtedly recommend a mold tea to help enhance the thought processes. He smiled widely at the thought.

"Oh, all the packing," Tessa sighed near his ear.

"If you don't want to go..."

"No. No, I do want to," she assured him. "Can you picture Richie in a kilt?" There was an impish grin on the Frenchwoman's face.

"Don't even mention the possibility or we'll be dragging him kicking and screaming through customs."

A childlike giggle escaped her as she settled on her side of the bed. Duncan climbed across to sit beside her and they both sighed contentedly as they leaned back against the pillows.

A moment later the Scot's face took on a decidedly grim countenance and he sat forward, hands on his knees as though poised for action. "I want to know what he was doing strolling in over an hour past his curfew," he grumbled, swinging his legs out of bed.

Tessa placed a restraining hand on his arm. "Duncan..." She looked up at him with a small smile, "he *is* nearly nineteen."

"I don't care how old he is, while he lives under this roof he'll..." He wound down rapidly and shot her a chagrined frown. "Did I just say that?"

"Yes, I believe you did," she replied, obviously amused. "And I'm reasonably sure it's not the first time," she added.

Duncan dropped back onto the bed beside her, moaning. "Good Lord, Tessa, we've turned into parents."

"Yes, we have. Isn't it wonderful." She was glowing, a smile lighting her face, her hands clasped at her breast and, as always, he found her hard to resist.

"Yes, Love, it's wonderful." He wore a smile of his own as he maneuvered her around until her head rested on his shoulder.

Their quiet reflection was interrupted by a sudden booming back-beat.

"Too loud!" Duncan shouted at the wall.

If anything, the volume seemed to increase, the vibrations knocking a small picture from the wall.

"All right, that's it," Duncan announced, jumping to his feet and stalking out of the room.

"Richard Ryan MacLeod! How many times have I told you not to blast that stereo?!"

Tessa leaned back against the pillows and a slow smile touched her face as she listened to the comforting familiar argument. She pictured a crystal with a pewter bale engraved with small symbols, but the image swirled away and was gone, replaced by a family portrait-three faces smiling around the candles on a double-chocolate cake with chocolate frosting. A small sigh of contentment escaped her lips as she drifted off to the strains of Alice In Chains, a Scottish brogue and a teenager's American slang all vying for supremacy.


End file.
